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SCR1BNER 


The  Fifth  of  November 


UNIX.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


The  Fifth  of  November 


By 

Charles  S.  Bentley  and 
F.  Kimball  Scribner 


"  Ko,  the  heart  that  has  truly  lored  never  forget* 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close 
As  the  sunflower  turns  on  her  j?od,  when  he  sets, 
The  same  look  which  she  turn'd  when  he  rose." 
—Thomas  Moore. 


Chicago  and  New  York: 

Rand,  McNally  &  Company, 

Publishers. 


Copyright,  1898,  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  WHAT  BEFELL  AT  THB  SIGN  OF  THE  LEOPARD.  1 

II.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  ST.  PAUL.        -  11 

III.  THE  HOME-COMING  OF  GUIDO  FAWKES.  21 

IV.  THE  SUPERIOR  OF  THE  JESUITS.        -  33 
V.  WHY  MASTER  FAWKES  WAS  SUMMONED  TO  ENGLAND.         42 

VI.  "THE  WISEST  FOOL  IN  CHRISTENDOM."  52 

VII.  THE  VISCOUNT  EFFINGSTON.  61 

VIII.  IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GENTLEMAN-PENSIONER.  73 

IX.  GARNET  AND  THE  KING.  81 

X.  THE  FORGING  OF  THE  THUNDERBOLT.  -                       89 

XI.  THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD.        -  97 

XII.  WHAT  THE  MOON  SAW.        -  108 

XIII.  AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  LEOPARD.  119 

XIV.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CROSS.       -  -          130 
XV.  "THOU  SHALT  NOT  KILL."  140 

XVI.  MONTEAGLE   AND  SALISBURY.  -              152 

XVII.  SOWING  THE  WIND.       -  158 

XVIII.  THE  CELLAR.  167 

XIX.  THE  NOTE  OF  WARNING.  178 

XX.  ON  THE  STROKE  OF  ELEVEN.  .  -          184 

XXI.  THE  FIFTH  OF  NOVEMBER.       -  -                 192 

XXII.  FAWKES  BEFORE  THE  KING.  200 

XXIII.  THE  BANQUET.  -  207 

XXIV.  "IN  THE  KING'S  NAMB."     -            •  213 
XXV.  REAPING  THE  WHIRLWIND.       ...  822 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 


It  has  not  been  the  intention  of  the  authors  of  "The 
Fifth  of  November"  to  write  an  historical  novel,  though, 
throughout  the  story,  they  have  endeavored  to  follow  as 
closely  as  was  consistent  with  the  plot  in  hand,  the  his- 
torical facts  collected  by  the  various  writers  who  have 
made  the  nature  and  workings  of  the  "Gunpowder  Plot" 
a  special  study.  With  one  or  two  exceptions,  the  char- 
acters in  the  present  romance  have  been  borrowed  from 
history,  and,  save  in  Chapters  XXI  and  XXII,  the  lines 
of  the  story  have  followed  those  traced  by  the  hand  of 
the  historian. 

In  presenting  to  the  public  this  "Romance  of  the 
Stuarts,"  indebtedness  is  acknowledged  by  the  writers  to 
Professor  S.  R.  Gardiner's  "What  the  Gunpowder  Plot 
Was,"  and  also  to  the  history  of  England  as  set  forth  by 
Knight,  Hume,  Froude  and  Ridpath. 

THE  AUTHORS. 

New  York,  February,  1898. 


THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHAT  BEFELL  AT  "THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
LEOPARD." 

Snow  had  fallen  through  the  day,  and  as  night  ap- 
proached all  objects  were  covered  with  a  mantle  of  white. 
The  noises  incident  to  the  life  of  a  great  city  had  long 
since  become  muffled  and  indistinct.  The  footfalls  of 
those  who  traversed  the  streets  could  no  longer  be  heard ; 
and  the  only  sounds  which  now  and  again  broke  the 
silence,  were  the  voices  of  my  lord's  link-men,  who,  in 
goodly  number,  fully  armed,  carrying  flaming  torches 
whose  lurid  dancing  light  shone  through  the  blinding 
snow,  appeared  at  a  distance  to  be  a  party  of  ancient 
saints  come  forth  from  their  tombs  to  indulge  in  a  ghostly 
frolic  under  cover  of  the  night.  The  voices  of  the  men, 
falling  upon  the  snow-laden  air,  sounded  dull  and  echo- 
less  as  they  heralded  the  approach  of  a  chair  to  some 
sharp  turn  or  gateway.  An  armed  escort  in  those  days 
was  no  mark  of  royalty  or  distinction,  for  it  was  not  well 
or  safe  for  men  to  travel  the  streets  alone  after  nightfall, 
as  many  a  sinister  face  and  cloaked  form  lurked  hid  in 
the  shadow  of  secluded  corners  and  dark  by-ways,  await- 
ing opportunity  to  cut  the  purse,  or  the  throat,  as  need 
be,  of  the  solitary  wayfarer. 

Numbers  were  no  guarantee  of  escaping  unmolested; 


2  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

for  of  late  the  rogues  had  become  so  bold  that  it  was  a 
common  thing  for  a  party  of  gentlemen  to  be  attacked 
successfully,  as  the  ruffians  mustered  in  their  ranks  many 
soldiers  of  fortune  who  had  served  in  Flanders,  France 
and  Spain,  and  were  well  versed  in  the  play  of  both  sword 
and  dagger.  These  acts  of  robbery  and  murder  were 
confined  to  no  one  locality,  but  the  vagabonds  who  per- 
petrated the  deeds  had  haunts  and  places  of  common 
rendezvous,  and  as  night  fell,  these  dens  poured  forth 
upon  the  town  their  murder-bent  crews. 

In  one  of  the  most  narrow  and  crooked  of  streets,  often 
lost  amid  the  winding  of  greater  thoroughfares,  and 
safely  hidden  from  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  King's  sol- 
diers, was  situated  a  tavern,  patronized  for  the  most  part 
by  those  who  replenished  their  purses  when  low,  by 
running  some  belated  traveler  through  the  back,  and 
taking  what  money  he  had.  This  tavern  was  famous 
among  its  patrons  for  its  mulled  ale,  the  like  of  which, 
they  swore  could  not  be  found  in  all  London.  To  those 
who  had  not  partaken  of  this  famous  beverage,  and  knew 
not  the  inn  by  reputation,  its  business  was  made  known 
by  a  swinging  sign,  upon  which,  very  indifferently  ex- 
ecuted, was  the  figure  of  a  leopard,  and,  further,  as  if 
the  artist  had  not  sufficient  confidence  in  his  powers  of 
portrayal,  he  had  printed  in  large  and  uncertain  letters, 
"At  the  sign  of  the  Leopard  may  be  found  all  manner  of 
goodly  cheer  and  comfort."  Below  this  evidence  of  what 
might  be  found  within,  a  small  and  narrow  doorway 
gave  entrance  to  the  hostelry.  Inside,  a  larger  room  than 
the  outer  aspect  of  the  place  indicated,  awaited  the  guest. 
A  low  ceiling,  blackened  by  age,  and  hung  with  number- 
less spider  webs,  whose  weavers  had  long  since  fled — 
driven  thence  by  the  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  puffed  from 


AT  "THE   SIGN   OF   THE   LEOPARD."  3 

the  lips  of  many  a  sturdy  knave  who  nightly  helped  to 
fill  the  place.  The  walls  of  the  room  being  paneled  in 
some  dark  wood  to  an  unusual  height,  the  three  windows, 
which  furnished  more  air  than  light,  were  well  up  toward 
the  ceiling.  The  sides  of  this  chamber  were  decorated 
with  rows  of  pewter  pots  and  flagons  of  various  shapes 
and  sizes.  The  furniture  consisted  of  half  a  dozen  rough 
tables  and  high-backed  benches  ranged  about  the  sides. 
The  floor  was  freshly  sanded,  but  rough  in  many  places 
from  the  prominence  of  knots,  the  softer  wood  being 
worn  from  around  them  by  the  shuffling  of  numberless 
pairs  of  boots.  An  uncertain  light  proceeded  from  sev- 
eral large  candles  standing  in  brass  candlesticks,  but 
most  of  the  illumination  was  due  to  a  fire  which  burned 
briskly  in  a  large  stone  fireplace  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  room,  and  gave  to  all  an  aspect  of  warmth  and  good 
cheer. 

Standing  in  front  of  the  blaze  was  the  host  of  the  estab- 
lishment, attired  in  the  costume  of  his  time, — a  loose 
jacket,  linen  breeches  and  green  apron.  He  was  eyeing 
with  a  look  of  no  small  displeasure  three  men  seated  at 
one  of  the  tables,  two  of  whom,  by  their  actions,  seemed 
to  have  partaken  a  little  too  freely  of  the  Leopard's  spe- 
cial beverage.  They  wore  the  dress  of  a  class,  which,  by 
their  manner,  was  one  of  no  great  elevation.  Long,  soft, 
wide-brimmed  hats  adorned  their  heads,  while  tight-fit- 
ting jerkins  of  very  much  soiled  leather  covered  their 
bodies.  Trunks  and  tights  of  some  faded  material,  and 
boots  with  deep  falling  tops,  completed  their  costume, 
unless  there  should  be  added  the  two  long  bellguard 
rapiers  lying  upon  the  table,  and  to  which,  from  appear- 
ances, the  gentlemen  in  question  owed  their  livelihood. 
The  man  seated  opposite  was  thick-set  and  slightly  under 


4  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

medium  height;  instead  of  the  leather  jerkin  worn  by 
them,  his  body  was  incased  in  a  steel  cuirass  or  breast- 
plate, which,  judging  from  the  numerous  dents  thereon, 
had  turned  the  force  of  many  a  savage  thrust  and  blow. 
The  face  of  the  man  was  one  which  had  long  been  ex- 
posed to  both  sun  and  storm,  and  even  pestilence  had  not 
spared  it,  for  in  many  places  the  disfiguring  finger  of 
smallpox  had  left  its  mark.  His  beard  was  worn  in  the 
style  favored  by  the  soldiers  of  the  Spanish,  rather  than 
the  English  army,  for  it  was  pointed  and  surmounted  by 
a  long,  black  and  up-curling  moustache,  which  added 
fierceness  to  an  already  not  too  kindly  countenance.  His 
sword,  a  long  point  and  blade  rapier  of  Italian  pattern, 
still  hung  by  his  side,  as  if  even  when  surrounded  by 
this  good  cheer,  he,  from  habit  born  of  many  a  hard  cam- 
paign, still  clung  to  it. 

"What,  ho,  John  Tapster;"  exclaimed  he  of  the  steel 
cuirass,  banging  lustily  on  the  table  with  the  pummel  of 
his  sword,  "another  six-hooped  pot  of  thy  best  mulled  ale, 
for  the  sour  and  remorseful  wine  of  Spain  which  I  have 
drunk,  ill  befits  my  stomach." 

The  landlord  advanced  reluctantly  to  comply,  with  an 
air  which  plainly  showed  he  was  divided  in  his  mind  be- 
tween the  doubt  of  a  settlement  to  an  already  long  unpaid 
score,  and  the  fear  of  personal  violence  did  he  refuse  the 
man  his  request.  The  love  of  a  whole  skin,  however,  tri- 
umphed, for  after  filling  the  pot  with  ale  and  plunging 
the  mulling  iron  into  it,  which  he  had  drawn  from  the 
fire,  he  set  the  desired  drink  before  his  guest. 

"By  Sir  Bacchus!" said  the  stranger,  after  taking  a  deep 
draught,  "  'tis  the  only  fitting  liquid  to  put  into  one's 
body,  if  he  wishes  to  strike  a  stout  blow  for  the  King." 
Then,  as  he  finished  the  pot,  "It  seemeth  well  to  drown 


AT  "THE   SIGN   OF  THE   LEOPARD."  5 

the  clinging  dust  of  Spain  within  one's  throat,  in  merry 
English  ale." 

The  landlord  did  not  venture  to  reply  to  these  offers  of 
conversation;  he  seemed  loath  to  enter  into  friendly  talk, 
when  in  all  probability  he  soon  would  be  embroiled  with 
the  man  in  a  dispute,  if  not  in  an  issue  of  more  serious 
nature.  However,  the  other,  nothing  daunted,  and  gaz- 
ing on  his  two  companions,  whom  he  discovered  wrapped 
in  drunken  slumber,  snoring  roundly,  prodded  them  both 
with  the  scabbard  of  his  sword,  which  action  eliciting 
from  them  nothing  but  a  grunt,  and  being  desirous  of 
further  conversation,  he  again  turned  to  him  of  the  green 
apron  who  had  resumed  his  watchful  scrutiny  from  be- 
fore the  fire,  and  continued : 

"Thou  seemest  but  sparing  of  thy  speech,  Sir  Host. 
Judge  a  man  not  always  by  the  company  he  keeps;  these 
drunken  knaves  whose  silly  pates  would  have  been  turned 
with  milk  of  the  morning's  drawing,  are  no  comrades  of 
mine;  'tis  only  a  mere  chance  friendship.  I  was  not  over 
particular  in  my  pick  of  friends,  being  lately  landed,  and 
but  too  glad  to  take  up  with  the  first  varlets  speaking 
my  own  sweet  English;  after  many  months  of  naught 
but  jabbering  Spanish  sounding  in  my  ears  'twas  well 
and  pleasing  to  hear  once  more  the  brave  tongue  in  which 
my  first  aves  were  taught  unto  me." 

"Aves  have  not,  I  trow,  over-troubled  thee,"  answered 
the  landlord  in  not  too  jovial  a  tone. 

"Nay,  nay,  friend;  be  not  quick  to  judge  by  weight  of 
purse  or  hilt  of  sword,  for  a  man  with  not  over  much 
money  in  his  gipsire  may  still  have  that  about  him  which 
would  recommend  him  more." 

"And  what,  pray,  might  that  be?"  inquired  the  other; — 
"a  handsome  face  and  ready  tongue?  They  are  goodly 


0  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

coin  to  win  the  heart  of  some  fair  maid,  but  naught  of 
cakes  and  ale  they'll  buy  thee  when  thy  belly's  empty." 

"Nay,  I  will  offer  neither,  for  I  have  none  of  them.  The 
first  was  but  rudely  handled  some  thirty  years  ago  by 
plague,  at  Havre;  the  second's  had  but  small  practice, 
and  its  tone  was  spoiled  by  breathing  the  damp  winds  of 
the  Flemish  marshes.  I  leave  such  graces  to  the  stay-at- 
homes  who  twist  a  tap — but,  a  truce  to  this  witty  talk, 
for  it  makes  but  ill  friends,  and  I  would  ask  of  thee  a 
favor,  which  will  cost'  naught  but  civility,  that  is  cheap 
and  in  the  end  may  gain  thee  much."  So  saying,  he  put 
his  hand  into  a  small  bag  which  hung  at  his  side,  draw- 
ing therefrom  a  very  much  soiled  and  crumpled  paper, 
and  advancing  with  it  toward  the  host,  continued:  "I  am 
but  illy  versed  in  such  priestly  craft;  the  meaning  I  can 
understand,  but  its  full  intent  may  have  missed  my  stupid 
eyes.  Canst  thou  decipher  it  for  me,  Sir  Host?" 

This  direct  appeal  to  his  learning  softened  to  some  ex- 
tent him  of  the  spigot,  whose  curiosity  as  well  as  pride 
was  aroused,  for  the  man  addressing  him,  judging  from 
his  speech,  was  a  little  above  the  usual  class  who  fre- 
quented the  tavern.  Reaching  for  a  candle  which  stood 
upon  the  mantel,  that  he  might  better  see,  and  taking 
the  letter  with  grudging  fingers,  said  in  a  slightly  more 
gracious  tone  after  a  moment's  scrutiny,  "It  ill  pleases 
me,  that  monkish  writing,  but  print  such  as  honest  John 
Caxton  did  manufacture,  I  can  decipher  right  readily." 
Then  with  knitted  brow,  during  which  the  other  man 
remained  standing,  looking  over  his  shoulder  in  an  ex- 
pectant attitude,  he  continued:  "For  truth,  I  could  at 
first  but  illy  make  it  out;  I  have  it  now."  Then  read  from 
the  paper: 


AT   "THE   SIGN  OF  THE   LEOPARD."  7 

"To  Guido  Fawkes:  In  the  Army  of  His  Majesty, 
Philip  of  Spain:  I  doubt  not  that  thou  rememberest  my 
promise,  made  some  time  since,  which  I  have  now  the 
pleasurable  opportunity  to  fulfill.  Much  it  pleaseth  me 
to  offer  thee  a  place,  the  duties  of  which  will  keep  thee 
near  thy  daughter,  and,  moreover,  the  reward  of  such 
being  not  below  the  merit  of  him  who,  by  my  knowledge, 
most  honestly  gained  it,  and  is  well  worthy.  If  it  suit 
thee  to  accept  the  charge  I  have  to  offer,  the  naming  of 
which  I  shall  defer  until  we  meet,  detach  thyself  from 
thy  present  occupation,  repair  to  London  with  all  likely 
haste,  and  seek  me  at  my  house  when  soon  arrived. 
"'(Signed)  SIR  THOMAS  WINTER.'" 

"Beshrew  my  heart,  but  thou  art  a  ripe  scholar,  land- 
lord, and  much  I  marvel  to  see.  one  with  such  goodly 
learning  wasting  time  on  knaves  like  these,"  cried  the 
man,  pointing  to  his  companions  at  the  table; "and  pray," 
he  continued,  "since  myself  hath  been  introduced  in 
name,  I  would  know  thine  also,  so  I  might  thank  thee 
the  heartier." 

"Giles  Martin,  for  want  of  better,"  replied  the  host, 
"and  dost  thou  know  this  Sir  Thomas  Winter?"  he  in- 
quired after  a  moment,  still  looking  at  the  note  in  his 
hand. 

"Aye,  and  for  a  right  brave  gentleman,  who  hath  done 
me  noble  service." 

"For  one  done  unto  himself,  I  take  it,  from  the  purport 
of  the  letter?" 

"A  small  service,  not  worth  the  mentioning,"  replied 
Fawkes.  "Once  in  Spain,  a  gentleman — the  self-same  Sir 
Thomas,  was  sorely  set  upon  by  a  surly  ruffian,  who, 
in  exchange  for  his  purse,  would  have  given  him  Para- 


8  THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER. 

disc."  Then  with  a  deprecating  wave  of  the  hand,  which 
he  dropped  on  the  hilt  of  his  rapier,  "  'twas  but  a  weakly 
blow  I  turned,  and  spitted  the  varlet  with  my  good  sword 
here.  Zounds,"  he  continued  with  a  voice  full  of  enthu- 
siasm, "for  this  petty  act  he  did  conduct  my  poor  moth- 
erless lass  out  of  a  country  where,  to  the  men,  a  pretty 
face  is  as  flint  to  powder,  and  brought  her  safe  to  London 
and  her  grandam." 

"You  saved  his  life;  'twas  a  worthy  object  and  a  worthy 
deed/'  exclaimed  Martin  heartily,  who  had  been  watching 
the  speaker  narrowly  during  his  narration. 

"Tut,  tut;  'twas  nothing;  but  I  take  it  thou  hast  ac- 
cniaintance  with  him,"  said  Fawkes,  turning  toward  the 
other,  with  a  manner  which  denoted  surprise  at  the 
landlord's  outburst  of  appreciation,  "and  may  direct  me 
unto  his  residence,  for  after  many  years'  absence  I  am 
lately  come,  and  illy  versed  in  London's  streets  which  are 
as  crooked  as  a  blade  that  hath  lain  long  in  the  fire." 

"In  truth,  I  do  know  where  he  lives,"  said  Martin 
(then  continued  in  a  lower  tone  as  if  speaking  to  himself) 
"and  further,  that  he's  in  none  too  good  favor  with  the 
King.  But  as  to  his  address:  if  thou  wilt  take  the  dome 
on  St.  Paul's  as  thy  guide,  which  thou  canst  most  readily 
see,  proceed  thither,  and  when  reached,  continue  down 
the  street  running  toward  the  left,  a  few  more  steps  will 
bring  thee  to  a  house  surrounded  by  an  iron  railing;  it 
is  the  one  thou  seekest."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
continued  as  if  good  judgment  had  been  overcome  by 
enthusiasm — "and  when  thou  dost  behold  Sir  Thomas, 
make  mention  that  Giles  Martin  (say  naught  of  my  pres- 
ent calling,  for  he  knows  me  not  by  that)  sends  his  duty, 
and  would  again  at  his  elbow  cry  in  the  self-same  voice, 
'An  Essex,  An  Essex!'  Perchance,"  Martin  added,  sud- 


AT  "THE   SIGN  OF  THE   LEOPARD."  9 

denly  breaking  off,  fearing  he  had  been  incautious  before 
a  stranger  in  connecting  his  name  with  an  incident  which 
had  brought  but  little  honor  with  it,  "that  is  why  I  am 
now  doing  this,"  taking  a  soiled  tankard  from  the  table 
and  wiping  it  on  his  apron. 

"Gladly  will  I  be  the  bearer  of  thy  message,  but  as 
thou  hast  said,  why  does  Sir  Winter  stand  in  ill  repute?" 

"It  may  be,"  answered  Martin,  turning  his  gaze  upon 
the  two  men  at  the  table,  then  setting  down  the  tankard, 
"that  he  hath  a  quick  temper  and  a  ready  tongue,  swift 
steeds  in  our  time  to  pull  a  man's  head  upon  the  block," 
and  advancing  toward  the  other  concluded  in  a  low  voice 
full  of  emotion,  "mayhap  memory  doth  hold  up  a  mirror 
to  his  eye,  in  which  is  reflected  Mary's  dripping  head, 
chopped  for  her  faith." 

"Verily,"  cried  Fawkes,  in  a  loud  tone  characteristic 
of  one  not  afraid  of  voicing  opinions  that  lay  near  his 
heart,  "would  that  good  King  James  might  look  into 
the  glass  thou  dost  mention  and  see  the  promises  of  his 
youth,  for  naught  of  promise  or  his  mother's  head  me- 
thinks " 

"Hist,"  whispered  Martin,  breaking  in  and  .laying  his 
hand  upon  the  speaker,  "a  truce  to  such  treason  talk; 
naught  has  it  done  but  brought  me  to  an  ill-famed  pot- 
house," he  concluded  in  a  thoughtful  voice. 

"Well,  well,  none  of  thy  story  will  I  ask;  but  in  Spain 
they  do  illy  treat  a  heretic,"  Fawkes  continued,  looking 
significantly  at  the  fire,  and  pointing  toward  it  with  his 
outstretched  arm ;  "a  truce,  as  thou  sayest,  for  I  must  no 
longer  tarry.  Saint  Paul's  bell  is  on  the  stroke  of  ten, 
and  I  would  see  Sir  Winter,  and  (in  a  softer  voice)  my 
lass,  to-night;  for  honestly,  I  am  more  than  anxious  to 
see  her  pretty  face;  first  I  must  bid  yon  knaves  good- 
2 


10  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

bye."  So  saying  he  endeavored  to  rouse  the  companions 
of  his  cups.  Not  being  able  however  to  bring  them  to 
any  degree  of  consciousness,  he  discontinued  his  exer- 
tions, and  turning  toward  the  landlord,  who  had  been 
watching  his  eff orts,  said,  laughingly :  "  'tis  but  little 
harm  they'll  do  in  sleep,  and  I  trow  they  are  none  too 
good  when  in  their  seven  senses,  so  I  will  leave  them 
thus;  but  take  thou  from  this  the  reckoning  of  us  all,  for 
naught  of  gold  they  have,  I  swear" — handing  the  other 
a  purse,  which,  after  extracting  a  sovereign,  Martin  re- 
turned to  its  owner. 

"  Tis  but  a  sorry  night  in  which  to  travel,"  remarked 
the  host,  pocketing  the  money  and  proceeding  to  rake 
the  fire,  while  his  guest  wrapped  about  himself  a  long, 
thick  cloak  which  had  hung  over  the  back  of  a  bench. 

"Aye,  'tis  cold,  and  steel  draws  unto  itself  the  frost/'  re- 
sponded Fawkes,  as  he  finished  his  preparations  for  de- 
parture. "And  now,  Sir  Host,"  he  continued,  extending 
his  hand,  "farewell,  but  soon,  when  I  am  once  more  to 
rights,  it  will  do  me  pleasure  to  quaff  a  flagon  in  thy  hon- 
est company,  for  such  is  a  man  who  knoweth  Sir  Thomas 
Winter,  and,"  he  continued,  drawing  closer  to  the  other, 
"is  no  prating  Protestant  in  these  times  when  he  who 
would  seek  a  favor  or  gain  a  title  must  blow  out  the  can- 
dles on  his  altar,  and  break  its  images.  Start  not  at  my 
words,  for  by  thy  very  speech  thou  art  no  heretic,  and  I 
do  love  thee  the  better  for  it.  But  see,"  he  continued  as  he 
opened  the  door,  "the  night  is  already  mended,  the  snow 
hath  ceased,  the  moon  shows  bright,  and  by  my  troth, 
there  is  my  guide,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  distant  dome 
of  St.  Paul,  on  which  a  huge  cross  glistened  in  the  moon- 
light. 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   ST.    PAUL. 


CHAPTER  II. 
IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   ST.    PAUL. 

In  the  heart  of  London,  a  musket  shot  distance  from 
the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul,  stood  a  dwelling  of  no  mean 
pretension  occupied  by  one  Thomas  Percy,  Gentleman- 
Pensioner,  a  man  of  goodly  parts,  blood  relative  of  the 
Earl  of  Northumberland  and  well  known  as  a  Catholic, 
though,  by  reason  of  his  office,  there  attached  to  him 
scant  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  the  King's  ministers  that 
his  faith  overlapped  his  loyalty. 

On  the  same  night  which  witnessed  the  appearance  of 
Guido  Fawkes  and  his  drunken  companions  at  the  "Sign 
of  the  Leopard,"  there  were  gathered  together,  in  an  upper 
chamber  of  Percy's  dwelling,  four  gentlemen.  The  house 
was  an  official  structure  given  over  as  a  meeting  place 
for  certain  of  the  King's  commissioners,  the  room  wherein 
they  sat  being  well  adapted  for  the  discussion  of  such 
matters  as  it  seemed  inexpedient  to  let  reach  the  ears  of 
those  whose  business  called  them  not  within  the  council 
chamber. 

A  snow  storm  made  the  night  exceeding  chilly,  so 
three  of  those  who  came  to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of 
the  Pensioner  had  provided  themselves  with  ample 
cloaks,  which,  closely  wrapped  about  their  persons,  and 
covering  the  lower  portions  of  their  faces,  precluded  rec- 
ognition, were  any,  by  chance,  to  accost  the  wearer  on 
the  King's  highway.  Although  few  were  abroad  on 
account  of  the  extreme  cold,  and  those  few  would  not 
2 


12  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

have  marveled  that  a  gentleman  should  be  closely  muf- 
fled even  as  a  secret  assassin,  or  highwayman,  or  noticed 
that  the  three  went  not  together  to  the  outer  door  of  the 
house,  still  each  came  separately,  knocking  thrice  upon 
the  panel,  whereupon  Sir  Percy  himself  opened  to  him, 
that  he  might  enter  quickly. 

Being  safe  within,  and  the  room  warmed  by  great  logs 
which  sputtered  in  the  open  fireplace,  the  three  laid 
aside  their  cloaks,  and  sat  uncovered  in  the  presence  of 
their  host,  who,  the  better  to  discourse  with  each,  occu- 
pied a  place  at  the  head  of  the  long  table  about  which 
were  wont  to  sit  the  commissioners  of  the  King. 

That  the  little  gathering  was  not  composed  of  church- 
men, or  learned  doctors  of  the  day,  might  have  been 
easily  guessed  by  their  youthfulness  and  dress.  Scarce 
past  five  and  thirty,  with  clear  cut  features,  well  knit 
frames,  dignity  of  carriage,  apparel  of  the  higher  class, 
and  the  court  rapier  then  in  vogue,  hanging  at  the  side 
of  each,  designated  them  as  gentlemen. 

Having  drained  with  nervous  haste  a  goblet  of  wine 
which  stood  before  him,  he  who  was  the  Pensioner  turned 
with  a  frowning  brow  to  his  companions : 

"Gentlemen!"  said  he,  half  rising  from  his  seat,  "shall 
we  always  talk  and  never  do  anything?" 

This  appeal  uttered  in  an  impatient  voice  moved  each 
of  his  guests  in  a  manner  strikingly  dissimilar.  One  on 
the  right  sitting  with  back  to  the  door,  turned  uneasily 
as  though  fearing  that  the  portal  stood  open,  and  that, 
on  the  threshold,  might  appear  a  stranger,  or  perchance 
the  King's  officer.  Another,  clad  in  a  suit  of  gray  velvet, 
drummed  nervously  upon  the  table,  while  the  third,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  eldest  of  the  four,  frowned  darkly.  To 
him  the  host  turned  impatiently. 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   ST.    PAUL.  13 

"Ah!"  cried  he,  "my  words  have  struck  you  illy,  my 
Lord  Catesby,  that  you  frown  so  ominously!" 

"Nay,  Percy!"  replied  the  other,  the  shadow  of  a 
smile  playing  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "Thy 
words  but  recalled  me  to  my  duty.  As  thou  sayest,  we 
have  spoken  much,  and  I  did  but  consider  that  talking 
would  scarce  pull  from  the  throne " 

He  who  was  attired  in  the  gray  velvet  started.  "Not  so 
plainly;  not  so  openly,  my  good  Catesby!"  he  interrupted, 
"or  as  my  name  be  Jack  Wright,  I 

The  language  of  his  companion  aroused  the  dormant 
energies  and  spirit  of  Catesby. 

"Faith!"  cried  he,  bringing  his  clenched  hand  down 
upon  the  table,  "methinks  the  adventure  with  my  Lord  of 
Essex  hath  left  thy  stomach  but  poorly  fitted  for  so  tough 
a  morsel  as  the  undoing  of  the  'Wisest  Fool  in  Christen- 
dom.' Even  Sir  Digsby,  who  but  now  turned  trembling 
toward  the  doorway,  hath  more  spirit  for  the  undertaking. 
Hath  not  Percy  touched  the  keynote  of  our  ill  condi- 
tion? What  matters  it  that  we  writhe  Under  the  des- 
potism of  James  Stuart?  Wherefore  are  the  penal  laws 
renewed?  Why  hath  England  driven  from  her  shores 
those  who  would  serve  us  in  our  churches?  Where  is 
our  Mass,  our  altars  and  the  images  of  Holy  Mother 
Church?  Would  we  call  on  France,  Spain  and  the  Holy 
Father  to  sweep  from  the  land  this  band  of  heretics  who 
fear  not  God,  nor  respect  the  faith  of  five  centuries  of 
English  kings?  I  tell  thee,  Sir  John  Wright,  friend  and 
fellow  churchman  though  thou  art,  that  'tis  to  us — to 
all  the  Catholics  in  England — that  the  world  looks  for 
action.  Will  France  act  while  we  are  idle?  Thinkest 
thou  Spain  hath  so  soon  forgotten  the  Armada,  that  she 
will  consent  to  aid  while  we  remain  under  cover?  Tis 


14  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

for  us  to  open  a  way  whereby  may  enter  those  who  stand 
without,  seeking  our  deliverance.  Words  beyond  count, 
like  the  drops  of  the  ocean,  have  been  uttered  since  James 
came  to  the  throne,  yet  are  we  free?  'Tis  not  words,  I 
tell  thee,  but  action,  swift,  sharp  and  merciless,  that  will 
put  down  our  enemies.  Fearest  thou  the  block?  Did 
Essex,  did  Moore,  a  hundred  others  whose  faith  was  their 
life,  fear  the  headsman?  Good  Percy  hath  brought  us  to 
our  senses  and  surely  thou  must  see  the  truth  of  it." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself  Catesby  sank  into  his 
seat,  his  face  white  from  the  intensity  of  the  fire  which 
burned  within  him.  His  companions  remained  silent,  so 
great  was  their  astonishment  at  the  openly  expressed 
earnestness  of  Catesby.  Percy  was  the  first  to  regain 
speech. 

"It  ill  becomes  us,"  said  he,  "that  a  quarrel  should 
arise  in  a  company  gathered  for  the  discussion  of  so 
weighty  a  matter.  Yet  the  words  of  Sir  Robert  Catesby 
are  well  balanced,  and  the  time  draws  nigh  when  this 
same  James  Stuart  shall  know  that  there  yet  remain 
good  Catholics  in  England.  Sir  Thomas  Winter ' 

"Ah!  Sir  Thomas  Winter!"  broke  in  Digsby,  "the  hour 
is  long  past  and  he  is  yet  absent." 

"There  be  some  good  reason,"  said  Wright  quickly. 
"Sir  Thomas  is  too  good  a  Catholic,  too  earnest  in  the 
undertaking  which  will  yet  free  us  from  the  heretic,  to 
absent  himself  willingly.  And,"  turning  to  Catesby  with 
hand  extended,  "I  thank  thee  that  thou  hast  thus  spoken 
so  boldly;  would  there  were  more  like  thee  to  arouse  the 
Catholics  of  our  country." 

The  frown  passed  as  a  cloud  from  the  brow  of  the  elder 
conspirator. 

"Forgive  me!"  cried  he,  "if  my  words  bore  too  much  of 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   ST.    PAUL.  15 

the  flame  of  impatience  and  too  little  of  that  unity  which 
should  ever  be  between  us.  As  to  Sir  Winter,  fear  noth- 
ing; even  now,  I  warrant  he  is  on  his  way  hither,  having 
perhaps  been  delayed  by  some  slight  adventure,  for  the 
times  are  troublous  and  after  nightfall  a  gentleman  may 
not  walk  with  perfect  safety  through  the  streets  of 
London." 

As  though  in  answer  to  this  confidence,  the  speaker 
had  scarcely  finished,  when  there  sounded  through  the 
house  three  muffled  raps,  and  Percy,  uttering  an  exclama- 
tion, hastily  left  the  room. 

"It  may,  indeed,  be  Winter,"  said  Digsby,  "or,  per- 
chance, Rookwood,  although  he  made  known  to  me  but 
yesterday,  that  certain  business  demanded  his  presence  in 
the  country." 

The  sound  of  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  street 
door  precluded  a  reply.  There  was  a  clatter  of  feet  upon 
the  stairs,  and  into  the  room  came  Percy,  followed  by  two 
men  whose  forms  and  features  were  concealed  by  their 
huge  cloaks. 

The  three  at  the  table  arose  hurriedly,  each  with  hand 
upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  but  the  words  of  one  of  the 
new  comers  changed  their  look  of  alarm  into  one  of 
welcome. 

"Faith!"  cried  he  who  pressed  close  behind  Percy, 
"wherefore  would  you  be  so  ready  to  draw  blades  at  the 
coming  of  a  comrade?  Come!  Sir  Robert  Catesby,  and 
thou  Wright,  and  Digsby,  seest  not  that  the  cold  hath 
well  nigh  overcome  me?  Wine,  therefore,  wine,  that  we 
may  pledge  each  other  in  our  venture." 

So  saying,  Sir  Thomas  Winter  cast  aside  his  cloak, 
revealing  a  figure  clad  in  doublet  and  hosen  of  somber 


16  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

brown,  offset  by  slashes  of  cardinal,  and  the  gilt  of  the 
sword  belt  which  girded  his  hips. 

"Welcome!"  cried  the  others,  crowding  about  him, 
"thou  art,  in  truth,  doubly  welcome,  as  thy  coming  is  so 
long  after  the  appointed  hour." 

Endeavoring  to  get  a  better  view  of  him  who  closely 
followed  Winter,  Catesby  made  a  gesture  of  interroga- 
tion. 

Sir  Thomas  laughed  softly.  "Ah!  Good  Catesby!"  said 
he,  "thou  wert  ever  of  a  most  careful  nature.  Know, 
then,  that  yonder  cavalier  is,  in  truth,  one  of  whom  I 
have  so  often  spoken,  Guido  Fawkes;  an  old  comrade  of 
the  wars,  and  whom  I  have  brought  hither  that  I  might 
introduce  him  to  so  good  a  company,  a  cheerful  fire  and 
a  goblet  of  Sir  Percy's  stoutest  wine." 

At  the  name  of  Fawkes,  pronounced  by  Winter  with  an 
intonation  which  would  have  puzzled  any  one  not  familiar 
with  certain  matters  known  only  to  a  few  in  England, 
Catesby,  Wright  and  Digsby  cast  searching  glances  at 
the  new  comer,  as  though  seeking  to  read  in  the  impas- 
sive features  of  the  soldier  of  fortune  some  riddle  which 
heretofore  had  puzzled  them.  As  to  Fawkes,  not  deign- 
ing to  notice  the  evident  curiosity  with  which  the  three 
gentlemen  greeted  him,  he  allowed  his  cloak  to  fall  upon 
the  floor,  walked  to  the  fireplace,  and  stood  with  back  to 
the  blaze,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  face  of  Winter. 

"Come!"  said  that  personage,  accepting  the  goblet 
which  Percy  tendered  and  passing  it  to  Fawkes,  "you  are 
surprised  that  I  appear  among  you  with  Master  Guy  at 
my  heels.  It  was,  indeed,  a  happy  venture  that  threw 
us  together." 

"Happy,  forsooth,"  replied  Wright,  "but  yesterday 
thou  didst  tell  us  that  this  same  bold  captain  was  even 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   ST.    PAUL.  I? 

now  in  Spain,  though  thou  hadst  summoned  him  hither." 

"And  so  I  thought  him,"  said  Winter,  "fighting  among 
the  Dons  that  the  gold  pieces  might  jingle  more  merrily 
in  his  wallet.  Yet  he  is  here,  and  to-morrow  at  my  own 
house  we  will  confer  together.  What  sayest  thou,  friend 
Guido?" 

"Faith!"  replied  Fawkes,  setting  down  the  goblet 
which  he  had  drained  to  the  bottom,"  'twas  for  that  same 
purpose  I  came  to  London,  also  to  see  once  more  my 
daughter." 

"That  thou  shalt,"  broke  in  Winter  heartily,  "and  a  bet- 
ter favored  wench  can  scarce  be  found  in  all  the  king- 
dom." 

Percy  and  Catesby  exchanged  glances.  Winter  con- 
tinued: 

"But  first,  perchance,  'twould  be  to  the  liking  of  the 
company  that  I  make  known  the  manner  of  so  unex- 
pected a  meeting,  when,  thinking  Friend  Guido  basked 
beneath  the  skies  of  Spain,  I  fell  across  him  'mid  the 
snows  of  London." 

"  'Twas  of  little  import,"  spake  Fawkes  gruffly ;  "a  cast 
of  fortune,  the  simple  drawing  of  a  blade,  such  as  once 
befell  when  thou  didst  serve  in  Spain." 

"As  to  that,"  replied  Sir  Winter,  "these  gentlemen  can 
judge  when  they  hear  concerning  it.  Tis  true,  that 
had  this  same  bold  cavalier  remained  in  Castile,  Thomas 
Winter  were  now  ready  for  burial." 

"Then,"  cried  Percy,  "thou  art  doubly  welcome,  Mas- 
ter Fawkes,  as  perchance  thou  shalt  learn  presently." 

Having  refilled  the  goblets  Winter  seated  himself  be- 
fore the  fire. 

"I  was  delayed  some  two  hours  by  certain  matters  with- 
in my  own  dwelling,"  began  he,  "and  it  was  with  exceed- 


l8  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

ing  impatience  that  I  hastened  hither,  not  following  the 
most  public  highways,  but  seeking  a  shorter  passage 
through  unfrequented  alleys,  in  order  to  join  you  the 
sooner. 

"Methinks  I  had  gone  some  two  thousand  paces,  my 
face  muffled  and  sword  ready  to  hand,  when  suddenly 
there  sprang  upon  me  from  the  shadow  of  a  doorway, 
two  ruffians,  who,  making  short  shift  of  courtesy,  de- 
manded my  purse  and  such  valuables  as  were  upon  my 
person.  Having  slight  desire  for  so  rude  a  giving,  I 
did  straightway  put  my  back  against  a  wall,  and  with 
drawn  blade  contended  against  the  two.  They,  being 
persons  of  fixed  purpose,  and  withal,  excellent  swords- 
men, had  near  ended  the  matter  by  thrusting  me  through, 
when  most  opportunely  came  a  third  man  who,  perceiv- 
ing two  against  one,  thrust  the  larger  of  the  ruffians 
through  the  back,  and  would  have  done  likewise  with 
the  other,  but  the  fellow  took  to  his  heels  and  ran  as 
though  the  devil  pursued  him. 

"The  adventure  was  quickly  over,  and  my  rescuer 
coolly  wiping  his  blade  upon  the  cloak  of  the  dead  robber 
did  swear  roundly  in  Spanish,  for  that  his  amusement  had 
been  of  so  short  duration. 

"  'Faith!'  growled  he  looking  up  at  me,  '  'tis  not  thus 
they  fight  in  Spain;  yet,  having  perchance  rendered  thee 
some  slight  service,  canst  thou,  good  sir,  direct  me  to  a 
certain  dwelling,  hard  by  St.  Paul's,  wherein  may  be 
found  one  Sir  Thomas  Winter,  to  seek  whom  I  have 
come  to  London?' 

"Much  amazed  at  his  words  I  scanned  him  closely,  for 
his  voice  had  a  familiar  ring  in  my  memory. 

"  'Zounds!'  cried  he,  noting  that  I  sought  to  read  his 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   ST.    PAUL.  IQ 

features,  'wherefore  dost  thou  look  so  hard  upon  me? 
Hath  the  air  of  Spain — 

"  'Fawkes!'  cried  I,  seizing  him  by  the  shoulders,  '  'tis 
truly  my  friend  Guido!' 

"  'Ah!'  said  he  gruffly,  'then  thou  knowest  me?' 

"  'And  why  not?'  I  replied,  'having  sent  for  thee.' 

"At  this  his  astonishment  was  great,  yet  was  he  pleased 
that  he  had  come  upon  me  so  handily.  He  had,  he  told 
me,  but  just  arrived  in  London,  having  come  hither  to 
obtain  service  under  me,  and  to  see  once  more  his  daugh- 
ter." 

"And/'  said  Fawkes,  Winter  having  finished,  "having 
so  quickly  found  one,  I  would  seek  the  other.  Blood  is 
thicker  than  water,  and  I  warrant  me  the  lass  is  much 
improved  both  in  stature  and  knowledge.  Tis  now  close 
upon  the  morning,  good  gentlemen,  therefore  I  pray  thee, 
Sir  Winter,  direct  me  whither  I  shall  go,  being  in  sore 
haste  to  find  her." 

Winter  drew  Catesby  aside,  whereupon  a  whispered 
consultation  followed,  the  drift  of  which  was  evidently 
known  to  Percy,  Wright  and  Digsby,  though  Fawkes 
wondered  somewhat  at  it.  His  impatience  soon  showed 
itself. 

"Zounds!"  cried  he,  striking  with  his  clenched  hand 
the  hilt  of  his  rapier,  "I  am  much  beholden  to  thee,  Sir 
Winter,  and  later — but  now,  I  pray  thee,  make  haste, 
that  I  find  my  daughter." 

Catesby  flushed  angrily,  for  the  words  of  the  soldier 
of  fortune  struck  illy  upon  his  haughty  temper,  and  he 
would  have  replied,  but  Winter  pressed  his  arm. 

"Good  Guido,"  said  he,  soothingly,  "thy  haste  is  most 
commendable.  Go  then  to  thy  daughter,  and  that  thou 
mayest  not  miss  the  way,  follow  closely  the  directions  I 


20  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

shall  give  thee.  Upon  leaving  Sir  Percy's  door,  turn  thou 
to  the  left,  going  down  the  street  which  leads  past  the 
gate  of  St.  Paul's.  Proceed  five  hundred  paces,  then  turn 
about  to  thy  left,  when  thou  wilt  see  before  thee  a  narrow 
street,  upon  the  corner  of  which  is  situate  a  gabled  dwell- 
ing, bearing  upon  its  peak  a  golden  arrow.  Count  then 
two  score  doors  from  the  corner,  and  upon  the  three 
and  fortieth,  knock  loudly;  'tis  there  thy  daughter  dwell- 
eth." 

At  Winter's  words  all  signs  of  impatience  vanished 
from  the  soldier's  manner. 

"By  the  keys  of  Peter!"  cried  he,  "I  am  much  beholden 
to  thy  lordship.  Having  spoken  with  the  lass,  where 
may  I  find  thee?" 

"Fear  not,"  replied  Winter,  "for  in  the  evening,  about 
the  hour  of  nine,  I  will  come  for  thee.  Go  thou,  then, 
speedily." 

Fawkes  made  haste  to  snatch  his  cloak,  and  having 
wrapped  it  about  him,  bowed  to  the  company  and,  pre- 
ceded by  Percy,  clattered  down  the  stairs. 

"Methinks  he  will  serve  us,"  muttered  Winter;  "yet, 
good  Catesby,  must  we  deal  gently  with  him,  for,  being 
of  an  exceeding  rough  nature,  'twill  need  but  an  ill-timed 
word  to  turn  him  into  gunpowder." 


THE    HOME-COMING   OF    GUIDO    FAWKES.     21 
* 

CHAPTER   III. 
THE    HOME-COMING   OF    GUIDO    FAWKES. 

"By  my  hilt!"  exclaimed  Fawkes,  as  he  closed  the  door 
of  the  council  chamber  and  wrapped  his  long  cloak  well 
about  him,  "  'tis  a  merry  night  I've  had;  first,  in  none  too 
clean  a  pot-house;  then  a  stout  thrust  for  good  Sir 
Thomas, — 'twas  passing  strange  that  I  did  once  more 
stand  twixt  him  and  glory;  and,  last  of  all,  a  stoup  of  good 
old  wine  in  the  company  of  a  most  noble  throng.  In- 
deed, good  Guido,"  he  continued,  as  musing  to  himself  he 
walked  along,  "thou  wert  made,  I  marry,  for  better  things 
than  cracking  the  knavish  pates  of  yellow  Dons;  but 
guard  thy  touchy  temper  well,  for  even  to-night  thou 
couldst  but  sadly  brook  a  small  delay,  and  wouldst  have 
answered  my  Lord  Catesby's  haughty  look  with  scant 
courtesy.  I  fear  thy  warlike  nature  would  poorly  thrive 
upon  a  diet  of  quiet  living.  But  these  be  times  when  the 
dogs  of  war  are  ill  leashed,  and  need  small  urging  to  slip 
their  fetters  and  bark  and  bite  anew.  I  question  much 
what  the  morrow  holds,  and  would  that  Sir  Thomas  had 
made  some  mention  of  my  employ. 

"By  St.  George,"  he  added  after  a  moment,  slackening 
his  pace  as  if  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  him,  "they 
did  seem  but  poorly  pleased  to  see  a  strange  face  standing 
in  their  door,  until  Sir  Walter  stood  sponsor  for  the 
same.  Aye,  and  what  names  had  these  noble  gentlemen 
— Catesby,  Wright,  Digsby,  Percy!  All  good  Catholics," 
he  continued,  a  cunning  smile  twitching  the  corners  of 
his  mouth.  "And,  who  is  King?  Why,  James  Stuart,  to 
be  sure,  a  most  bigoted  Protestant!  What  was  it  that 


22  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

Master  Martin  said  about  Mary's  dripping  head?  Well, 
well,  friend  Guido,  thy  good  sword  may  not  be  red  with 
rust  alone;  wait  but  a  little  while,  and  thy  employment 
may  be  most  pleasing  to  thy  taste,  and  thy  conscience, 
also."  Then  he  drew  his  cloak  more  closely  about  him 
and  quickly  proceeded  on  his  way. 

At  last,  following  the  direction  given  him  by  Winter, 
Fawkes  arrived  before  a  small,  neat  house,  situated  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  city;  stopping  in  front  to  make  sure  it 
was  the  one  for  which  he  was  in  quest,  he  proceeded  up 
the  steps  and  knocked  thrice.  No  answer  followed  his 
summons,  and  after  several  moments  of  waiting,  which 
were  consumed  in  the  stamping  of  feet  and  walking  up 
and  down,  for  it  was  bitterly  cold  in  the  frosty  air,  he 
again  repeated  the  announcement  of  his  presence  to  those 
within,  this  time  with  better  result.  The  sound  of  a  case- 
ment opening,  caused  him  to  look  up,  and  he  beheld  the 
wrinkled  visage  of  an  old  woman,  who,  with  blinking 
red-rimmed  eyes,  and  night-cap  on  her  head,  stood  re- 
garding him  with  an  air  of  evident  disfavor,  for  presently 
she  cried  in  a  shrill,  toothless  voice,  "Get  thee  gone,  thou 
beggar,  I  have  naught  for  thee."  "By  my  soul,  good 
mother,"  answered  the  man,  laughing  heartily,  "thy  wel- 
come doth  match  the  morning  air  in  warmth.  Dost  not 
know  thy  son  Guy?" 

"By  the  blessed  Virgin!"  exclaimed  she,  in  half-fright- 
ened tones,  evidently  engendered  by  a  most  wholesome 
respect  for  her  son,  "wait  but  a  trice  until  the  door  be  un- 
barred." Saying  which,  she  hastily  withdrew  her  head 
and  closed  the  window.  Immediately  after,  the  shrill 
tones  of  her  voice  were  heard  within  the  house,  crying: 
"Mistress  Elinor!  Mistress  Elinor!  hurry  down  and  let 
thy  sire  in,  for  he  stands  without!"  A  moment  of  silence, 


THE    HOME-COMING   OF   GUIDO    FAWKES.     23 

followed  by  the  drawing  of  bolts,  and  suddenly  the  door 
was  thrown  open,  disclosing  the  figure  of  a  girl,  who, 
with  outstretched  arms,  exclaimed:  "My  father!" 

Standing  bathed  in  the  rosy  light  of  coming  day,  she 
was  in  high  contrast  to  the  rough,  weather-beaten  man, 
who  quickly  clasped  her  to  his  breast.  The  pale  and 
lightly  tinted  olive  complexion,  which  showed  descent 
from  some  far-off  Castilian  ancestor,  harmonized  well 
with  the  dainty  but  clear  cut  features.  A  shapely  head, 
surrounded  by  a  wealth  of  dark  and  glossy  hair,  carried 
downward  from  the  temples  and  gathered  into  a  knot 
behind,  so  as  to  completely  cover  the  fragile  ears,  formed 
a  fitting  frame  for  eyes  of  the  darkest  violet,  which,  as 
they  gazed  up  into  his,  showed  the  fondest  love.  A  soft 
gray  gown,  half  closed  at  the  throat  and  fastened  about 
the  waist  by  a  silver  girdle,  completed  the  attire  of  a  slen- 
der but  perfect  figure,  thrown  into  bold  outline  by  her 
attitude. 

"Forsooth,"  exclaimed  Fawkes,  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak  for  her  caresses,  "methinks  thou  at  least  art  glad 
to  see  thy  old  father  once  again."  Then,  as  he  held  her 
at  arm's  length,  that  he  might  better  gaze  upon  the  face, 
"indeed, thou  art  changed;  'tis  the  promise  of  the  bud  ful- 
filled in  the  blossoming  flower.  But  let  us  in,  for  the  cold 
air  ill  becomes  me  after  the  warming  sun  of  Spain,  and 
frost  but  roughly  handles  such  tender  plants  as  thou  art." 

"Nay,  nay!"  exclaimed  she,  closing  the  door  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  about  him,  "thy  tender  plant  is  naught  but 
a  sprig  of  hardy  ivy,  which  hath  needed  these  many 
months  the  sturdy  oak  on  which  to  cling."  Then,  with 
a  little  shiver,  and  a  laug*h,  as  her  warm  body  rested 
against  the  cold  steel  of  his  breastplate,  "thou  dost  give 
thy  ivy  but  a  chilly  hold,  Sir  Oak." 


24  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"Ah,"  said  Fawkes,  looking  at  her;  "thou  wert  always 
the  same  dainty  puss,  but  I  trow  this  cold  cuirass  hath 
been  warm  enough  even  for  thy  nestling,  as  down  it  hath 
gushed  the  warm  blood  of  many  a  valiant  foe  killed  in 
close  conflict.  But  enough  of  battles  now,  my  pretty,  for 
home  once  more  am  I,  and  not  sorry  to  let  such  bloody 
deeds  rest."  Unfastening  his  cloak,  sword  and  breast- 
plate, he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  before  the  fire  which 
burned  brightly  on  the  hearth. 

"But  where's  thy  good  grandam?"  queried  he,  "must 
she  tarry  to  put  on  silks  and  satins  in  which  to  bid  her  son 
a  welcome?" 

"Nay,"  replied  the  girl  with  a  laugh,  kneeling  at  his 
side;  "she,  poor  soul,  was  but  half  awake;  for  these  cold 
days  illy  suit  her  bones,  and  she  doth  lie  long  in  bed." 

"And  thou,"  said  the  man,  taking  her  head  between 
his  hands,  "art  up  like  a  lark,  to  bid  thy  father  welcome. 
Didst  expect  my  return?" 

"Sir  Winter  made  mention  of  thy  coming,  but  set  no 
special  day  for  thy  arrival,"  answered  the  girl,  a  shadow 
passing  over  her  face  as  she  looked  into  the  blaze. 

"And  did  he  say  for  what  I  was  to  come?"  inquired 
Fawkes,  evidently  anxious  to  set  his  mind  at  rest  upon 
that  subject. 

"That  he  did  not,"  she  replied,  still  gazing  abstractedly 
at  the  fire,  "but  simply  said  that  if  thou  earnest  to  Eng- 
land he  would  give  thee  service  which  would  keep  thee 
and  me  near  to  each  other.  And,"  continued  she,  sud- 
denly turning  toward  him  and  taking  both  his  hands  in 
hers,  "thou  wilt  not  leave  me  again  for  so  long  a  time; 
I  have  been  sore  lonely  and  oft  have  felt  the  need  of  thy 
sturdy  arm  on  which  to  lean." 

"That  I  will  not,  my  pretty  dear,"  said  Fawkes,  draw- 


THE    HOME-COMING   OF   GUIDO   FAWKES.     25 

Ing  her  closely  to  him;  "and  thou  didst  really  miss  me, 
whom  some  do  illy  term  a  pock-marked  ruffian?" 

"Indeed,  thou  art  no  ruffian!"  Elinor  cried,  her  eyes 
ablaze  in  a  moment;  "and  if  any  one  so  dared  to  call  thee, 
I'd— 

"Well,  well!"  the  father  exclaimed,  evidently  surprised 
and  looking  into  the  flushed  face,  "my  sweet  rose  hath 
thorns  as  well  as  blushing  leaves,  and  would,  I  dare 
swear,  strike  a  good  blow  for  her  sire's  name.  By  good 
Sir  Cupid,  but  I  do  pity  the  one  who  doth  try  to  balk 
thy  temper,  little  woman." 

"And  soon  will  come  a  time  when  thou  wilt  have  a 
brave  gentleman  to  pity,"  broke  in  a  mumbling  voice 
which  made  the  two  start  and  turn. 

The  figure  of  an  old  woman,  bent  by  age,  with  face 
resembling  an  ill-fitting  parchment  mask  placed  upon 
a  skull,  advanced  toward  them. 

"By  the  blessed  dead,  mother!"  said  Fawkes,  arising, 
"thou  didst  turn  my  blood  with  thy  prophetic  voice;  but 
hast  thou  not  a  blessing  for  thy  son?" 

"That  I  have,  good  Guido,  and  most  glad  am  I  to  see 
thee  back !  I  gave  thee  a  rude  greeting  from  the  window, 
for  my  eyes  and  ears  have  failed  of  late,  but  I  am  not  so 
blind  that  I  cannot  see  two  brave  gentlemen  tied  to  my 
lady's  girdle  there,"  she  cried,  with  a  wheezy  laugh,  point- 
ing her  trembling  hand  at  the  girl  who  stood  with  an  arm 
drawn  through  her  father's. 

"What  is  this  tale?"  said  Fawkes,  with  feigned  stern- 
ness, turning  toward  his  daughter;  "hath  thy  pretty  ways 
been  breaking  hearts  already?"  Then,  as  he  observed 
the  blushing  face  and  downcast  eyes: — "There,  there, 
my  darling;  all  in  good  time.  When  thy  heart  doth  open 
of  its  own  accord,  thy  father's  ear  will  ever  be  a  willing 


26  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

listener.  By  Venus,"  he  continued  in  a  voice  full  of  ad- 
miration, as  he  gazed  upon  her  fair  figure,  "I  could  not 
marvel  or  condemn  if  thou  hadst  fifty  gallants  at  thy 
little  heels,  and  would  but  admire  the  rogues  the  more 
for  their  excellent  taste  in  beauty.  But,"  he  added,  evi- 
dently wishing  to  turn  t'he  conversation  on  noting  her 
embarrassment,  "I  have  not  broken  bread  for  nigh  onto 
fifteen  hours;  after  I  have  taken  food  I  will  listen  to  thy 
pretty  tale,  and  tell  thee  many  a  one  such  as  thou  once 
wert  fond  of.  Dost  remember  how  thou  didst,  long  ago, 
climb  upon  my  knee,  and  tugging  with  thy  baby  Jiands  at 
my  shaggy  beard,  beg  for  a  story  ere  thy  bedtime  came?" 

"That  I  do,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  all  her  embarrassment 
gone;  "but  first  I  will  set  before  thee  what -our  larder 
affords." 

So  saying,  and  aided  by  the  old  woman,  she  began 
preparations  for  the  morning  meal.  Having  done  ample 
justice  to  the  repast  quickly  set  before  him,  and  having 
lighted  a  long  pipe  from  a  coal  without  the  blaze,  Fawkes 
again  settled  himself  before  the  fire,  and,  after  two  or 
three  long  puffs,  turned  toward  Elinor,  who  was  em- 
ployed about  the  room,  and  said: 

"Now,  my  pretty  little  housekeeper,  thou  hast  done 
enough;  sit  thee  beside  thy  father.  It  is  long  since  he 
hath  known  the  pleasure  of  thy  sweet  face  and  a  blazing 
hearth,  and  the  good  grandam  seems  ill  company,  for 
there  she  nods  but  a  drowsy  greeting,"  added  he,  pointing 
with  his  pipe  to  the  old  woman,  who  had  fallen  asleep  in 
a  remote  corner  of  the  chamber. 

"Dost  thou  remember  the  last  time  we  sat  so?"  asked 
the  girl,  as  she  came  and  knelt  beside  him,  placing  an  arm 
upon  his  shoulder;  "  'twas  the  night  before  I  left  for  Eng- 
land; and,  oh!  it  was  a  most  sorry  time."  Then  fingering 


THE    HOME-COMING   OF    GUIDO    FAWKES.     27 

the  ends  of  her  silver  girdle  and  glancing  at  the  old 
woman,  who  was  still  asleep,  she  began  in  a  hesitating 
voice: 

"Mayhap  the  speech  of  my  good  grandam  might  mis- 
lead thee  into  thinking  me  but  a  sorry  flirt.  Therefore, 
I  would  make  explanation,  which  is  most  easy,  and  set 
thee  right." 

"I  thought  naught  of  it,  daughter,  for  I  am  much  too 
well  acquainted  with  her  mischief-working  words,  that 
are  ever  ready  to  brew  a  trouble.  If  thou  hast  aught  to 
say,  however,  and  would  feel  better  for  the  telling,  pray 
go  on,  and  know  an  ever-loving  heart  awaits  thy  speech," 
replied  Fawkes,  stroking  her  hair. 

"Then  thou  must  know,"  she  began  abruptly,  "that  Sir 
Thomas  Winter  is  a  frequent  caller  at  this  house,  and,  my 
father,  how  can  I  tell  thee  for  the  very  shame  of  it?  He 
hath  never  spoken  to  that  effect,  but  there  are  many 
thoughts  ne'er  proclaimed  by  tongue  which  are  most 
loudly  uttered  by  eye  and  hand,  often,  too,  more  truly 
eloquent  are  they  than  those  framed  in  simple  words;  and 
by  this  very  language  yet  outspoken,  I  know  soon  will 

come  the  day  when  there  will  be  asked  a  heart "  she 

broke  off  suddenly  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands — 
"that  is  not  now  mine  to  give." 

"There,  there,  my  pretty  one,  stop  thy  crying,  for  thine 
eyes  were  made  for  smiles  and  not  for  grief.  It  is  naught 
so  bad ;  Sir  Winter  is  a  fine  gentleman  and  much  we  owe 
him.  But  thou  art  my  daughter,  and  I,  a  poor,  rough  sol- 
dier; it  would  be  an  ill-assorted  match;  in  truth,  I  believe 
that  the  lark  should  not  pair  with  the  golden  finch,  who 
would  soon  tire  of  her  sweet  song,  because  she  lacked 
the  yellow  feathers  of  her  mate.  What,  dost  thou  but 
cry  the  harder  for  my  words?  I  have  not,  I  know,  the 

3 


28  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

tender  touch  of  a  mother  to  dry  thy  tears,  but  a  more 
willing  hand  to  comfort  cannot  be  found."  Then  he  added 
tenderly:  "If  thou  hast  aught  more  to  tell,  open  thy  heart 
to  me  and  I  will  play  the  woman  for  a  while." 

"Think  not,  then,  from  my  tears,"  she  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, lifting  her  head  and  confronting  her  father  with 
that  spirit  which  is  often  hid  in  a  seemingly  gentle  nature, 
"that  I  am  ashamed  of  him  on  whom  my  love  doth  fall; 
or,  rather,  of  him  to  whom  my  love  doth  mount,  for  he  is 
as  far  above  me  in  worth,  as  I  beneath  him  in  station. 
But  what  hath  equality  to  do  with  it?  Is  it  so — that  love  is 
only  right  between  those  whose  purses  tip  the  scale  alike? 
Nay,  that  would  be  a  sacrilege,  for  this  mortal  love  of  ours 
is  the  one  thing  which  lifts  us  from  the  earth.  Doth  God 
not  love  the  most  unworthy  of  his  creatures?  Would  it 
be  just  to  say  that  salvation  should  be  meted  only  to 
those  who  are  the  Creator's  equal?  Who  of  us,  then, 
would  escape  the  flame?  Not  so,"  she  continued,  her 
eyes  ablaze  with  the  intensity  of  her  emotion.  "It  is  that 
very  affection  bestowed  upon  us  by  our  God  that  lifts 
us  poor  mortals  into  fellowship  with  him.  Love  knows 
no  laws  of  title,  tithes  or  wealth,  and  by  the  very  act  of 
loving,  the  peasant  rightly  seats  himself  beside  the  king. 
Ah,  think  not,  dear  father,"  she  cried,  falling  on  her 
knees,  "that  I  would  lightly  cast  aside  a  wish  of  thine. 
Dwell  but  upon  the  love  that  thou  once  felt,  and  remem- 
ber it  is  she,  the  reflection  of  that  self-same  love,  who 
seeks  thy  aid." 

There  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sobs  of  the 
kneeling  girl.  Fawkes  regarded  his  daughter  with  an 
air  of  evident  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  anxiety  in  antic- 
ipation of  what  might  follow;  for  every  action  showed 
she  was  wrought  up  to  the  highest  state  of  excitement 


THE    HOME-COMING   OF   GUIDO   FAWKES.     29 

and  earnestness.  After  a  moment  he  said  in  a  quiet  voice: 
"I  trust  these  hot  words  of  thine  are  but  the  outcome  of 
some  foolish  fancy,  which,  like  the  silly  scorpion,  will 
kill  itself  with  its  own  violence.  But  thou  hast  not  told  me 
all;  until  I  am  fully  advised,  my  counsel  can  be  but  scant. 
What  name  hath  he?  What  title  doth  he  hold?  For  by 
thy  speech  he  must  be  noble?" 

"Herbert  Effingston,"  replied  the  girl. 

"I  know  not  that  name,"  answered  the  other,  after  a 
moment's  musing.  "And  his  title?" 

"Viscount  Herbert  Effingston,  son  of  Lord  Mont- 
eagle." 

"Thou  hast  indeed  flown  high,"  Fawkes  cried,  with  a 
sudden  outburst  of  passion.  "Because  I  love  thee  I 
would  wish  thee  dead,  aye,  dead,"  he  continued,  fiercely, 
raising  himself  from  the  chair,  "rather  than  have  thee  bear 
the  hated  name  of  Monteagle." 

"But  thou  knowest  no  evil  of  him,"  cried  the  girl, 
springing  to  her  feet.  "He  is  good;  he  is  true  and  noble; 
aye,  and  hear  me,  it  was  he  who  saved  my  life — a  life  thou 
lovest.  I  know  what  thou  wouldst  say,  but  the  son  is  not 
holden  for  his  father's  sins ;  he  is  not — 

"But  he  is  of  the  brood,"  thundered  Fawkes,  now  thor- 
oughly aroused ;  "the  litter  of  the  jackal  will  eat  the  holy 
dead  left  by  its  sire — 'tis  in  their  nature.  Monteagle!"  he 
repeated  with  fine  scorn.  "And  marry,  that  would  be  a 
pretty  name  for  thee  to  choose — a  name  that  hath  done 
more  to  set  aside  our  Holy  Catholic  Church  than  all  the 
fiends  in  hell.  What  I  know  is  true,"  he  exclaimed,  seiz- 
ing her  by  the  arm.  "Hark  to  what  I  say  to  thee ;  even 
I  have  heard,  for  ill  fame  flies  with  swallow's  wings  swiftly 
across  the  sea,  and  when  I  am  done,  if  thou  still  dost  love, 
pray  to  the  Madonna  to  stop  the  beating  of  a  heart  that 


30  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

holds  so  unworthy  a  regard.  Thou  sayest  the  son  saved 
thy  life — by  what  means  I  know  not.  Think  you  that 
doth  make  amends  for  all  the  evil  done  by  him  and  his? 
Enough  of  this,  and  listen,"  he  continued,  mastering  his 
anger  and  pacing  up  and  down  the  room.  "Monteagle 
and  his  son,  both  Catholics,  and  until  James  Stuart 
reached  the  throne,  most  valiant  champions  of  their  faith, 
have,  since  the  scepter  reached  the  hands  of  that  wise 
fool,  endeavored  by  all  the  foul  means  within  their  power, 
to  defeat  the  efforts  of  their  fellow  churchmen,  which,  as 
thou  knowest — and  all  England  as  well — were  directed 
against  those  laws  which  meant  the  downfall  of  our 
church.  Did  these  hell  hounds  come  boldly  out  and  show 
a  lusty  fight — which  would,  in  a  small  degree,  have  rec- 
ommended them?  Nay,  that  is  not  the  nature  of  the  ser- 
pent. They  falsely  affirm  themselves  most  strong  adher- 
ents to  the  Pope,  receive  the  confidences  of  the  Papal  Del- 
egates, and  by  treasonable  use  of  this  knowledge  of  their 
secret  mission,  defeat  them  ere  they  strike  a  blow.  Is  it 
for  truth  that  they  are  against  the  faith?  Not  so;  for  the 
hypocrites  do  cross  themselves  and  bow  before  the  Host. 
Is  it  for  a  principle  that  they  act  thus?  Nay,  for  they  have 
none.  What,  then,  is  their  object?  It  is  to  gain  favor 
with  the  King,  and  place  themselves  by  underhanded, 
sneaking  ways  where  true  merit  ne'er  could  raise  them. 
Ah,  my  daughter,"  he  cried,  with  a  voice  full  of  supplica- 
tion, "I  love  thee  much  too  well  to  cause  thy  heart  a  sin- 
gle pang.  Canst  thou  not  see  it  all  aright?  And  even  if 
for  love  of  me  thou  wilt  not  pluck  this  passion  from  thy 
heart,  then  do  it  for  the  love  thou  owest  God." 

While  her  father  had  been  speaking,  the  girl  stood  mo- 
tionless, every  line  on  her  face  showing  plainly  the  con- 
flict raging  within  her  breast.  Her  eyes  were  dry,  for 


THE    HOME-COMING   OF   GUIDO   FAWKES.     31 

there  are  griefs  so  deep  and  searing  that  they,  with  their 
fiery  tongues,  do  lick  up  the  springing  tears  before  they 
can  fall.  It  was  not  in  her  nature  to  love  lightly ;  to  her 
passion  meant  more  than  a  mere  auxiliary  to  her  exist- 
ence; simply  making  life  brighter  and  happier;  every 
action,  deed  or  thought,  however  trivial  and  far  removed 
from  him,  by  some  subtle  influence  like  that  which  turns 
the  magnetic  needle  toward  the  north,  had  been  turned 
to  bear  upon  this  love  of  hers.  The  accusations  just  ut- 
tered concerning  his  traitorous  actions  with  regard  to 
her  faith,  influenced  her  but  little ;  for  her  attitude  toward 
religion  resembled  that  of  most  of  her  kind;  the  pure 
feminine  mind  turns  instinctively  toward  that  which  they 
deem  great  and  good,  believing,  as  a  rule, — shall  we  say 
ignorantly? — in  all  which  is  said  to  issue  from  a  source 
they  cannot  comprehend,  and  which  they  fear  for  the 
mystery  attached  to  it.  Man,  by  instinct,  loves  power 
and  dominion  over  others.  Woman  substitutes  for  that 
characteristic  the  longing  to  be  ruled,  and  in  that  subordi- 
nation of  herself  seeks  protection.  In  this  girl's  breast,  the 
desire  for  a  mystical  and  intangible  power  which  prom- 
ised to  protect,  had  been,  to  a  degree,  supplanted  by  the 
knowledge  that  there  awaited  one  who  would  clasp  her 
in  strong  arms,  and  guard  her  against  all  the  world. 
Therefore  the  words  spoken  a  moment  ago  had  but  little 
weight,  and  played  a  small  part  in  forming  the  resolution 
to  which  she  soon  gave  voice.  Duty  was  clear.  This 
poor,  lonely  man,  her  father,  who  had  known  but  little 
happiness,  whose  whole  existence  was  summed  up  in  two 
great  all-absorbing  passions — a  fearful,  passionate  belief 
in  God,  and  after  that,  his  love  for  her, — for  his  sake  she 
must  make  the  sacrifice. 

"Ah!"  thought  she,  "sacrifice  means  death,  and  my 


32  THE  FIFTH  OF  NOVEMBER. 

love  can  never  die,  but  I  shall  hide  it,  bury  it  deep  within 
my  bosom,  until  in  time  its  strength  shall  tear  my  heart 
asunder;  then  I,  in  place  of  love,  will  be  the  sacrifice." 

This,  and  more,  quickly  passed  through  her  mind,  but 
now  she  turned  toward  the  man  with  that  wonderful  self- 
control  which  only  can  be  found  in  woman,  and  said,  in  a 
quiet  voice,  devoid  of  passion  and  malice,  for  she  felt 
none: 

"If  it  be  thy  wish,  I  will  do  it  for  love  of  thee." 

"My  daughter!"  cried  he,  taking  the  motionless  figure 
in  his  arms,  "thou  hast  saved  me  from  a  living  hell.  Thou 
wilt  soon  find  I  have  brought  but  good  counsel.  Pluck 
this  poisoned  shaft  from  out  thy  heart,  and  if  the  wound 
hurt,  soothe  the  smart  with  sweet  knowledge  of  my  love, 
and  above  all,  with  a  sense  of  justice  done  to  God.  For- 
get, my  pretty  one,  thy  father's  hasty  temper;  or,  if  re- 
membered, let  it  be  only  as  called  forth  by  love  of  thee. 
But  we  shall  talk  no  more  of  passions;  let  them  go.  Come 
now  beside  me,  while  I  rest,  for  I  am  sore  weary  after  my 
long  journey.  Sit  so,"  he  continued,  reclining  on  a  bench 
before  the  blaze,  taking  the  white  hand  she  offered  and 
drawing  her  down  to  him,  "that  I  may  not  lose  thee  again, 
even  in  my  dreams." 

She  silently  complied  with  his  request.  It  would  have 
been  impossible  to  express  what  was  in  her  mind,  so  par- 
alyzed and  benumbed  was  it  by  the  heavy  blow  which  had 
suddenly  fallen.  As  the  fingers  which  held  hers  gradually 
relaxed  in  slumber,  she  slowly  sank  upon  her  knees,  and 
with  outstretched  arms,  in  a  tearless  voice,  exclaimed: 
"Oh,  my  love,  thou  who  art  my  life ;  since  on  earth  I  must 
forever  be  without  thee,  let  some  kindly  hand  give  me 
unto  death!" 


THE   SUPERIOR   OF  THE   JESUITS.  33 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE   SUPERIOR   OF  THE   JESUITS. 

While  Guy  Fawkes  held  converse  with  his  daughter, 
the  five  gentlemen  he  had  left  at  Percy's  house  were 
soberly  discussing  the  weighty  matters  which  had  drawn 
them  together.  The  sun  had  already  gilded  the  dome 
of  St.  Paul,  when  Winter,  Catesby,  Wright  and  Digsby 
made  ready  to  take  their  departure.  On  the  threshold  of 
the  chamber  Catesby  paused,  and  turning  to  Percy,  said : 
"  'Twill  mayhap  be  two  days  ere  I  again  come  to  thee, 
for  it  is  my  purpose  to  make  a  journey  into  the  country, 
that  I  may  gain  better  understanding  concerning  certain 
matters  which  rest  heavily  on  my  mind;  therefore  marvel 
not  if  for  one  night  I  be  absent." 

"Thou  goest  then  to  Worcester?"  asked  Winter. 

"Aye,  to  Hendlip  that,  in  its  wisdom,  the  counsel  of 
the  Church  may  direct  me.  Having  gone  so  far  'twere  ill 
to  draw  back,  yet  methinks  there  is  another  whose  words 
we  must  not  treat  lightly." 

"Garnet!"  burst  forth  Digsby. 

Winter  started.  "Not  here,"  he  whispered  quickly, 
"name  not  one  whose  zeal  hath  banished  him  from  Eng- 
land. Let  James  once  know  that  he  is  yet  among  us, 
and  not  a  hiding  place  in  Britain  could  shelter  him." 

And  a  wise  precaution  it  was  that  the  name  of  Henry 
Garnet  should  not  be  brought  to  the  King's  notice.  Bal- 
ancing the  advantage  of  being  neither  Catholic  nor  Prot- 
estant, the  accusation  that  he  was  about  to  favor  the 
Papists,  had  so  angered  James,  that  he  cast  aside  all  pre- 


34  THE  FIFTH  OF  NOVEMBER. 

tentions  of  toleration  to  the  adherents  of  Rome.  Coming 
to  the  throne  with  promises  of  favor  to  the  Catholic  no- 
bility, he  had  renewed  with  great  severity  the  laws  of 
repression,  and  the  banishment  of  the  Jesuits.  Many  of 
the  latter  had  sought  refuge  in  the  houses  of  the  more 
zealous  Papists,  and  among  them  Henry  Garnet,  Superior 
of  the  Order  of  Jesus  in  England,  an  accomplished 
scholar,  and  a  man  of  mild  demeanor,  though  an  un- 
compromising adherent  to  his  faith.  'Twas  to  Garnet, 
that  Catesby,  troubled  in  spirit  and,  perhaps,  uncertain  of 
the  undertaking  which  lay  before  'him,  had  resolved  to 
turn,  that  the  advice  of  the  wily  Jesuit  might  strengthen 
his  purpose,  or  check  for  a  time,  his  zeal  in  the  desperate 
venture  which  at  present  filled  his  mind. 

Some  two  hours  after  leaving  his  companions,  Catesby, 
mounted  upon  a  powerful  chestnut  mare  and  wrapped 
closely  about  with  a  fur  lined  cloak,  cantered  slowly 
through  the  streets  of  London  which  led  to  the  outskirts 
of  the  city  facing  the  northwest.  The  storm  of  the  pre- 
vious night  had  ceased,  and  the  country  side  lay  wrapped 
in  a  mantle  of  white,  broken  here  and  there  by  the  gray 
wall  of  some  silent  habitation  from  whose  chimneys  the 
first  blue  smoke  was  rising  in  circling  clouds  through  the 
crisp  morning  air. 

Having  reached  the  open  country,  the  rider  set  his 
horse  into  a  gallop,  for  his  destination  lay  many  leagues 
away,  and  it  was  his  purpose  to  reach  it  ere  nightfall. 
Hendlip  House  stood  near  the  middle  of  a  spacious  park 
thickly  studded  with  trees;  the  structure  itself  was  sur- 
rounded by  shrubbery,  and  contained  within  its  walls 
many  secret  hiding  places,  trap  doors  and  double  wain- 
scotings.  It  had  been  constructed  by  one  Thomas  Abing- 
ton,  a  devoted  recusant  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 


THE   SUPERIOR   OF  THE   JESUITS.  35 

and  the  dwelling  was  a  famous  resort  for  those  whose  de- 
sire it  was  to  conceal  themselves  from  the  authorities. 
Twas  there,  the  Superior  of  the  Jesuits,  together  with  a 
clerk  of  that  Order,  Oldcorne  by  name,  and  Owen,  a 
servant,  had  been  taken  by  certain  of  the  Catholic  gentry, 
among  whom  were  Lord  Rookwood  and  Sir  Everard 
Digsby. 

That  precaution  had  been  observed  to  guard  against 
surprise  was  shown  by  the  presence  of  a  watchman,  who, 
on  the  arrival  of  Catesby  outside  the  manor  grounds, 
stepped  from  his  lodge  that  he  might  hold  converse  with 
the  new  comer,  and  if  an  officer,  or  one  attached  to  the 
Parliament,  might  give  warning  to  those  within  the  house. 

Upon  perceiving,  however,  that  it  was  Sir  Robert 
Catesby  who  came  thus  unexpectedly  to  Hendlip,  the 
man  doffed  his  cap,  returning  a  civil  greeting  to  the 
rider's  remark  upon  the  coldness  of  the  weather. 

"Has  my  Lord  Rookwood  passed  this  way?"  inquired 
he,  reining  in  his  horse. 

"He  has,  in  truth,"  replied  the  servant,  catching  dex- 
terously the  silver  piece  tossed  him.  "Even  now,  together 
with  Mistress  Vaux,  he  is  within  the  house." 

"Vaux!  Anne  Vaux!"  muttered  Catesby,  "there  must 
be  then  some  weighty  matter  afoot  that  sfhe  comes  to 
Hendlip."  And  touching  his  horse  with  the  spur,  he  gal- 
loped up  the  avenue  which  led  to  the  main  entrance  of 
the  mansion.  Being  well  known  by  its  inmates  he  was  at 
once  conducted  to  an  upper  chamber,  the  door  of  which 
was  unbarred  by  Owen,  who  motioned  him  to  enter. 

There  were  three  occupants  of  the  room.  Before  the 
great  fireplace,  ablaze  with  logs,  sat  Henry  Garnet.  Scarce 
past  middle  age,  the  learned  prelate  was  a  striking  figure, 
clad  though  he  was  in  the  simple,  dark-hued  garb  of  his 


36  THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER. 

Order.  Beneath  a  brow  white  and  smooth  as  a  child's, 
shone  a  noble  countenance,  gentle  almost  to  effeminacy, 
but  redeemed  by  firm  lines  about  the  mouth,  and  the  in- 
tensity of  the  steel-gray  eyes.  As  Catesby  entered,  these 
eyes,  which  had  been  gazing  abstractedly  into  the  fire, 
lighted  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

One  of  the  Jesuit's  companions  was  a  personage  whose 
dress  and  manner  proclaimed  him  a  noble  of  the  period. 
He  leaned  indolently  against  the  frame  of  the  wide  win- 
dow facing  the  avenue,  through  which  the  horseman  had 
come,  and  he  it  was,  Lord  Rookwood,  who  first  an- 
nounced to  the  Prelate  that  a  visitor  approached. 

The  third  occupant  of  the  apartment  was  a  woman. 
Born  and  bred  in  luxury,  the  daughter  of  a  peer  of  Eng- 
land, Anne  Vaux  was  numbered  among  the  most  devoted 
followers  of  the  Superior.  Scarce  six  and  twenty,  she  had 
passed  her  minority  at  the  court  of  Elizabeth,  and  the 
accession  of  James  the  First  had  marked  no  change  in 
the  life  of  the  lady-in-waiting.  Anne  of  Denmark,  pleased 
with  the  loveliness  of  the  daughter  of  Lord  Vaux,  had 
retained  her  near  her  person. 

Pausing  on  the  threshold,  Catesby  took  in  the  three 
personages  at  a  glance,  but  it  was  to  the  Jesuit  that  he 
offered  his  first  salutation,  dropping  on  one  knee  as  Gar- 
net extended  his  hand,  upon  a  finger  of  which  glistened 
the  signet  ring  denoting  his  holy  office. 

"Welcome,  Sir  Robert  Catesby!"  murmured  the  Prel- 
ate, motioning  the  cavalier  to  draw  near  the  fire.  "  Tis, 
indeed,  a  most  happy  circumstance  which  brings  to 
Hendlip  so  devoted  a  servant  to  the  cause  of  God." 

"The  more  happy,"  replied  Catesby,  "that  I  find  your 
Reverence  of  good  cheer,  and  in  converse  with  my  Lord 
of  Rookwood  and  Mistress  Vaux." 


THE   SUPERIOR   OF   THE   JESUITS.  37 

"They  are  truly  of  much  comfort  to  me  in  my  solitude," 
said  the  Superior,  "and  with  the  help  of  God  I  have  pa- 
tience to  remain  in  idleness,  that  at  the  time  of  harvest  I 
may  be  ready." 

Catesby  cast  a  quick  glance  at  Rookwood,  but  the 
imperturbable  face  of  the  latter  told  him  nothing.  It  was 
Anne  Vaux  who  spoke. 

"  Tis  but  little,  indeed,  the  followers  of  this  most  holy 
man  can  do  to  comfort  him/'  she  said  softly,  "yet  it  seem- 
eth  fit  that  such  of  us  as  may,  shall  make  known  to  him 
that  even  the  court  of  James " 

Garnet  smiled.  "Anne!"  said  he,  turning  his  gray  eyes 
affectionately  upon  her,  "  'tis  a  comfort  beyond  human 
utterance."  Then  to  Catesby:  "But  thou  hast  ridden 
hard,  good  son?" 

"That  I  may  benefit  by  thy  wisdom,"  replied  Sir  Rob- 
ert, "for  my  soul  is  troubled." 

"A  confession!"  cried  Anne,  rising  quickly.  "There- 
fore I  will  retire  with  my  Lord  of  Rookwood." 

The  latter  shrugged  his  shoulders;  evidently  it  but 
poorly  fitted  his  desire  that  the  conversation  with  the 
Superior  should  be  unheard  by  him.  Catesby  noted  his 
displeasure,  and  signaled  him  to  remain.  Garnet  com- 
prehended the  matter. 

"Not  so!"  said  he,  "I  warrant  me,  good  Catesby  seeketh 
not  the  confessional,  but  to  render  certain  reports  con- 
cerning that  which  hath  transpired  in  London,  and  of 
which  Lord  Rookwood  hath  some  understanding.  Yet, 
lest  our  discourse  weary  thee,  good  Anne,  thou  mays* 
retire,  and  if  it  please  thee,  return  when  our  conference 
is  ended."  So  saying,  he  arose  and  conducted  her  to  the 
door. 


38  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

When  alone  with  the  two  gentlemen,  the  Prelate  looked 
fixedly  at  Catesby. 

"It  were  fitting,"  said  he  "that  Mistress  Vaux,  zealous 
though  she  be,  know  not  too  much  concerning  the  temper 
of  our  following.  Now  tell  me  quickly  what  hath  arisen 
to  disturb  thee." 

Catesby  walked  thrice  about  the  room,  then  stopped 
before  the  Jesuit  and  said  soberly: 

"That  which  agitates  my  mind  is,  perforce,  the  same 
matter  which  troubles  thee — a  holy  father  of  the  Church, 
my  Lord  of  Rookwood,  and  some  tens  of  thousands  of 
loyal  Catholics  in  England.  Tis  the  broken  promises  of 
James — the  overthrow  of  our  religion,  the " 

Garnet  checked  him. 

"Thou  speakest  as  a  true  Catholic,"  said  he,  "yet  has 
thy  grievance  been  long  endured.  There  are  many  men 
whose  childhood  witnessed  these  selfsame  wrongs." 

"Aye!"  cried  Catesby,  seizing  the  hand  of  the  Superior, 
"our  sufferings  have,  indeed,  been  of  long  duration,  but 
we  looked  to  the  ascension  of  the  new  King  to  lessen  evils 
which  have  pressed  so  hard  upon  us.  'Twas  to  James  of 
Scotland " 

The  eyes  of  the  Jesuit  blazed  fiercely. 

"Wretched  country!"  cried  he,  stretching  out  his  arms, 
"thou  hast  in  truth  suffered  long,  and  the  blessing  of  Most 
Holy  God  hath  gone  from  thee.  Thy  soul  is  troubled,  Sir 
Robert  Catesby,  thou,  who  art  free  to  live  as  suiteth 
thee!  Thinkest  thou  then  that  I,  whom  the  Holy  Church 
hath  appointed  to  teach  her  children,  suffer  nothing 
being  thus  a  prisoner  behind  the  walls  of  Hendlip  House? 
If  thou  art  vexed  at  thought  of  penalties,  and  cruel  enact- 
ments against  thy  brethren,  what  thinkest  thou  of  the 
happiness  of  one  to  whom  banishment  without  voice  or 


THE   SUPERIOR   OF  THE   JESUITS.  39 

trial,  such  as  are  granted  to  the  lowest  criminal,  follows 
from  so  unjust  a  law?  What  have  I  done,  wherein  lieth 
the  crime  of  all  the  priests  in  England,  that  the  hand  of 
James  is  turned  against  us?  If  thou  seek  out  the  King,  or 
question  the  Parliament,  and  ask  wherefore  we  are  driven 
from  our  churches — they  will  answer  thee,  'Ye  are 
Catholics.' ' 

During  his  words,  spoken  with  the  fire  of  an  ardent 
spirit,  the  slender  form  of  the  Jesuit  seemed  to  tower,  as 
an  enraged  deity,  above  the  persons  of  his  two  compan- 
ions. But  having  poured  out  the  bitterness  of  his  soul, 
the  meekness  of  the  man  asserted  itself,  and  sinking  into 
a  chair  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  The  sight  aroused 
Catesby  to  madness. 

"Aye!"  cried  he,  advancing  to  the  Prelate's  side,  "I  will 
go  to  James,  but  'twill  not  be  to  test  his  arguments.  One 
thrust  and  thou,  with  all  Catholics,  will  be  free." 

Drawing  out  his  sword  he  threw  it  at  the  feet  of  the 
silent  Jesuit. 

"Bless  thou  therefore  this  trusty  blade,  good  Father, 
that  it  may  do  its  work  quickly.  Bless  it,  and  me,  for  ere 
night  comes  again  'twill  have  drunk  the  blood  of  the 
heretic!" 

The  recklessness  of  the  other's  purpose  roused  Garnet 
from  his  lethargy. 

"Thou  art  mad,  good  Catesby,"  said  he  sadly;  "that 
thou  thinkest  to  kill  the  King  of  England.  Put  up  thy 
sword!  'Tis  not  through  the  violence  of  one  man  that 
England  will  be  freed.  We  have  waited  long  already; 
pray  for  patience  that  thou  mayst  bear  with  meekness 
the  burden  which  rests  heavily  upon  thee.  Thinkest 
thou  I  groan  not  under  it?" 


40  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

Catesby  might  have  replied  in  anger,  but  the  voice  of 
Rookwood  forestalled  him. 

"There  are  many  gentlemen  in  England  this  day  who 
from  waiting  have  grown  weary,  and  who  hope  no  more 
for  indulgence  from  the  King  and  his  Parliament.  Some 
there  may  be,  who,  even  as  good  Catesby,  have  in  their 
minds  resolved  upon  most  desperate  measures.  If  it  be 

then  a  sin  to " 

Garnet  turned  upon  him  saying: 
"A  sin!  A  sin  to  slay  the  King  of  England?'' 
"Yet  one  who  hath  broken  his  promises,  forsaken  the 
religion  of  his  mother,  and  who,  blind  to  the  mercy  of 
God, doth  seek  to  uproot  this  holy  cause!"  cried  Catesby. 
Whatever  might  have  been  the  ultimate  purpose  of  the 
Jesuit,  whether  as  an  Englishman  he  recoiled  at  the 
thought  of  the  assassination  of  his  King,  or,  as  a  Catholic, 
his  zeal  overbalanced  his  loyalty,  he  saw  that  it  was  quite 
time  to  curb  the  fanatical  tendencies  of  his  companions. 
The  very  life  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  England,  his  own 
safety,  and  that  of  his  fellow  priests,  might  be  sacrificed 
by  a  premature  attempt  on  the  part  of  Catesby,  or  some 
of  his  followers,  to  end  their  wrongs  by  the  murder  of 
the  King.  With  the  keen  perception  which  Garnet  emi- 
nently possessed,  he  saw  that  the  desired  change  in  the 
religious  policy  of  the  government  could  only  be  brought 
about  by  a  farther  reaching  blow  than  the  removal  of  the 
person  of  James.  Nor  would  a  decided  objection  on  his 
part  to  their  purpose  serve  his  ends,  for  it  was  his  policy 
to  draw  about  him  the  leading  Catholic  gentry  of  the 
kingdom.  He  therefore  cast  about  for  a  middle  course 
whereby  those  whose  zeal  had  overcome  their  discretion 
might  be  pacified.  The  remembrance  of  Anne  Vaux  sug- 
gested an  expedient. 


THE   SUPERIOR   OF  THE   JESUITS.  41 

"Good  Catesby,  and  thou,  Lord  Rookwood,"  said  he 
blandly,  "your  zeal  in  the  cause  hath  much  endeared  you 
to  me,  yet,  it  were  well  to  proceed  with  due  caution  in 
so  grave  a  matter.  Perchance  King  James  hath  it  in 
his  mind  to  extend  to  us  that  kind  indulgence  which  we 
crave  for.  Ye  know  that  the  Parliament  of  England 
is  composed  of  many  who  prate  much  about  their  liberties, 
and  if  James  seek  to  aid  us  by  dissimulation,  'twere  an  ill 
thing  to  cut  the  unripe  corn." 

"What  then,  good  Father?"  asked  Catesby. 

"Thou  knowest,"  replied  the  Jesuit,  "that  Mistress 
Vaux  is  closely  united  to  the  Court.  Maybe  thou  know- 
est, also,  that  there  is  a  certain  gentleman,  close  to  the 
King,  who  would  make  Anne  his  mistress.  Tis  a  truth 
that  the  wit  of  woman  worketh  much,  and  it  comes  to  me 
that  this  courtier,  to  please  Anne  Vaux,  might  seek  to 
discover  what  is  in  the  mind  of  his  master  regarding  the 
Catholics  of  England." 

"  'Tis  a  happy  thought,"  said  Rookwood,  "if  we  be 
benefited." 

"All  is  in  the  hands  of  God,"  replied  Garnet  solemnly, 
and  rising  he  touched  a  bell  which  summoned  Owen  from 
the  ante-chamber. 

"Good  Owen,"  said  he,  "bear  to  Lady  Vaux  my  desire 
for  her  presence;  our  conference  is  ended." 


42  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHY  MASTER  FAWKES  WAS  SUMMONED  TO 
ENGLAND. 

Elinor  sat  by  the  fire  with  a  piece  of  embroidery  in  her 
hand.  Her  thoughts  were  evidently  not  upon  it,  for  ever 
and  anon  she  would  lay  down  the  work  and  sink  into 
deep  meditation,  which  ended  in  sighs ;  then,  recollecting 
herself,  the  busy  fingers  would  once  more  resume  their 
task.  The  sound  of  footsteps  echoing  in  the  corridor  with- 
out, caused  her  to  turn  toward  the  door,  through  which  a 
man  presently  entered,  who  exclaimed  in  a  petulant  voice, 
as  he  ineffectually  endeavored  to  fasten  a  sword  belt: 
"Come,  my  daughter,  lay  down  thy  pretty  work  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  aid  thy  father  to  gird  this  cursed  baldric  about 
him,  for  the  ends  be  as  coy  as  an  old  maid  and  her  lover." 
She  arose  to  comply  with  his  request,  and  quickly  fas- 
tened the  desired  buckle,  then  inquired,  on  noting  his 
attire : 

"Dost  thou  go  abroad  to-night?" 

"Verily,  I  do,  if  Sir  Thomas  doth  keep  his  appoint- 
ment. 'Tis  past  the  hour  of  nine,  and  much  I  marvel  that 
he  hath  not  yet  arrived." 

"Then  I  will  now  bid  thee  good  night,"  she  answered, 
approaching  and  about  to  kiss  him,  when  hearing  one 
coming  up  the  steps  caused  her  to  delay. 

"There,  by  St.  Paul,  he  is  at  last,"  as  a  knock  sounded 
on  the  door.  "Run,  my  daughter,  and  open  to  Sir 
Thomas." 

The  girl  hesitated  a  moment  as  if  loth  to  comply,  then 


WHY    MASTER    FAWKES   WAS  SUMMONED.     43 

stepped  into  the  hall  and  withdrew  the  bolt.  Soon  the 
tones  of  a  man's  voice  could  be  heard  exclaiming:  "A 
good  evening  to  thee,  Mistress  Elinor.  It  is  but  fitting 
that  an  angel  should  unbar  the  door  of  Paradise,  for  I 
deem  the  house  naught  else  wherein  thou  dwellest." 
Kissing  the  reluctant  hand  which  he  held,  then  observing 
Fawkes,  who  had  advanced  to  greet  him,  "Well,  well, 
friend  Guido;  thou  lookest  fit  for  a  battle  royal,  with  thy 
long  war  rapier  girded  by  thy  side.  "But,"  he  continued 
with  a  laugh,  "it  would  ill  become  thee  to  go  abroad 
poorly  armed  in  my  company,  for  we  do  in  truth  seem  to 
invite  attack  when  together.  Did  thy  father  'tell  thee, 
Mistress  Elinor,  of  his  adventure  yester-night,  which  had 
for  its  intent  the  rescuing  me  again  from  dire  straits?" 

"Nay,  he  did  not;  for  my  father's  brave  deeds  need  not 
his  tongue  to  set  them  forth,  and  he  is  much  too  modest 
to  narrate  his  exploits,  even  though  they  had  so  worthy 
an  object  as  the  saving  of  thy  life,"  she  replied  with  a 
little  courtesy. 

"Marry,"  broke  in  Fawkes,  "I  was  marveling  why  thou 
didst  not  come,  and  was  thinking  perchance  'twould  be 
better  to  go  outside  and  listen  for  the  sound  of  a  distant 
brawl."  Then  observing  the  small  court  sword  which 
hung  by  the  other's  side,  he  continued,  pointing  toward 
it:  "Thou  art  but  lightly  equipped.  I  wonder  much 
that  thou  dost  go  so  poorly  prepared;  but,"  he  added, 
loosening  his  long  rapier  from  its  scabbard,  "thy  purse  is 
safe  to-night  at  least.  Wilt  come  for  a  moment  to  the 
fire,  and  warm  thyself?" 

"I  cannot,  though  much  I  regret  that  precious  time 
forbids;  if  thou  art  ready,  methinks  we  had  best  depart." 

"I  am  ever  at  thy  service,"  cried  Fawkes,  and  turning 
towards  his  daughter,  who  had  thrown  a  long  cloak  over 

4 


44  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

his  shoulders,  "I'll  wish  thee  a  good  repose,  sweet  one, 
for  'twill  be  late  ere  I  return."  Embracing  her,  then 
going  toward  Winter,  he  continued :  "  Tis  most  pleas- 
ing to  have  a  pretty  face  on  which  to  kiss  a  sad  good-bye, 
and  know  that  loving  arms  await  to  greet  a  happy 
return." 

"Aye,  that  it  is,"  he  responded,  biting  his  lip  and 
watching  the  two;  "but  we  poor  single  men  have  no  such 
bliss,  and  must  be  content  to  watch  the  happiness  of 
others.  Still,  there  is  left  me  the  sweet  sorrow  of  saying 
good  night."  He  extended  his  hand  to  the  girl,  who  let 
hers  rest  for  an  instant  within  his.  "Now,  if  thou  art 
ready,  Master  Fawkes,  I  will  follow." 

The  two  passed  out  into  the  night,  both  turning,  how- 
ever, when  half  way  down  the  path  to  wave  a  parting 
adieu  to  the  fair  figure  standing  within  the  door.  For 
some  little  distance  the  men  continued  on  in  silence,  each 
engrossed  in  thought.  At  length,  Winter  observing  that 
Fawkes  seemed  well  aware  as  to  the  direction  they  were 
taking,  exclaimed  with  some  little  surprise:  "Master 
Guido,  one  would  think  the  way  to  my  residence  an  old 
traveled  road  to  thee,  but  if  I  recollect  aright,  this  to  my 
knowledge  is  the  first  time  thou  hast  gone  over  it." 

"Marry,  but  I  have  a  guide,  Sir  Thomas,"  pointing  to 
the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  church,  which  reared  itself  dark 
against  the  star-studded  sky. 

"Beshrew  my  heart,  doth  some  angel  of  heaven  fly  be- 
fore thee?"  as  just  at  the  moment  Fawkes  turned  sharply 
down  another  street  leading  to  their  destination. 

"Nay,  I  have  not  that  to  point  the  way,  but  a  friend 
of  thine  gave  me  the  direction.  I  did  not  think  to  tell 
thee  the  first  night  of  our  meeting,  for  we  had  other  mat- 
ters of  more  pointed  nature  to  engross  our  thoughts,"  he 


WHY   MASTER    FAWKES  WAS  SUMMONED.     45 

added  with  a  laugh,  striking  his  sword;  "and  it  did  slip 
my  tardy  mind  that  I  was  the  bearer  of  a  message  from 
him  to  thee." 

"I  can  but  illy  guess  who  he  may  be;  but,  pray,  say 
on,  by  what  name  went  he?" 

"Giles  Martin ;  and  he  did  wish  I  would  convey  his  best 
respects  and  wishes  for  thy  good  welfare." 

"By  St.  Peter!  Where  didst  thou  run  across  the  man? 
I  had  deemed  him  long  dead,  for  naught  have  I  seen  of 
him  these  many  years." 

"The  truth  is,  Sir  Winter,  he  wished  no  mention  made 
of  his  present  whereabouts;  but  I  deemed  thou  hadst  a 
sturdy  friend  in  him,  and,"  continued  Fawkes,  looking  at 
the  other  significantly,  "he  did  seem  well  informed  on 
divers  topics  concerning  these  troubled  times." 

"What  dost  thou  mean,  friend  Guido?"  asked  Winter, 
turning  a  quick  glance  toward  Fawkes. 

"I  am  but  a  plain  man,  and  thy  outspoken  question 
invites  little  but  a  plain  reply.  Therefore,  I'll  repeat  his 
words,  whick  were  that  thou  didst  stand  poorly  with  those 
in  high  places,  and,  further,  the  times  were  such  that  hot 
outspoken  opinions  on  certain  subjects  were  apt  to  be 
quickly  followed  by  the  whistle  of  an  axe  flying  through 
the  air,  and  that  the  King " 

"A  truce,"  Winter  broke  in,  laying  his  hand  upon  the 
other's  arm  and  looking  behind  with  some  alarm  as  the 
two  entered  a  thoroughfare,  which,  by  the  number  of 
people  passing  up  and  down,  indicated  their  approach  to 
a  central  portion  of  the  city ;  "by  holy  St.  Dunstan,  frame 
not  thy  speech  in  such  loud  words,  for  it  might  be  illy 
construed.  But  here  we  are  at  our  destination,  and  when 
within,  thou  mayst  recite  all  that  Master  Martin  told." 

The  two  paused  in  front  of  an  iron  railing  surrounding 


46  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

a  court-yard,  on  which  fronted  a  residence  of  no  mean 
pretensions.  After  unlocking  the  wicket,  Winter,  fol- 
lowed by  his  companion,  proceeded  up  the  walk,  and 
passing  through  the  main  doorway,  entered  the  house. 

"This  is  the  first  time,  Fawke»s,  that  I've  had  the  hon- 
ored pleasure  of  thy  company  at  mine  own  fireside,"  ex- 
claimed Winter,  when  inside,  throwing  his  fur-lined  coat 
upon  a  chair.  Then  observing  that  his  companion  was 
already  busily  engaged  in  examining  a  trophy  of  swords 
which  decorated  the  wall,  he  continued:  "What,  do  thy 
warlike  eyes  ever  seek  the  implements  of  thy  trade?  See, 
Guido,  there  is  a  suit  of  mail  that  a  valiant  ancestor  of 
mine  did  wear  at  Crecy,"  pointing  toward  a  stand  of 
armor. 

"Indeed,"  answered  the  other,  examining  it,  "he  must 
of  necessity  have  been  brave,  for,  I  can  but  illy  see  how 
running  could  be  done,  even  if  the  spirit  prompted  the 
legs,  attired  in  this  heavy  harness." 

"And  now,  if  thou  be  ready,"  exclaimed  Winter,  evi- 
dently anxious  to  arrive  quickly  at  the  task  of  the  even- 
ing, "I  will  conduct  thee  to  a  chamber  wherein  we  may 
hold  converse  without  fear  of  interruption." 

The  two  proceeded,  Winter  leading  the  way  to  the  end 
of  the  hall,  and  passing  through  a  heavy  open  door,  which 
closed  behind  them,  entered  a  room  well  adapted  to  the 
discussion  of  such  things  as  must  not  fall  on  untrusted 
ears.  The  chamber  was  one  of  spacious  proportion,  but 
on  account  of  its  massive  black  furniture,  seemed  to  be 
of  medium  size.  The  walls  were  hung  in  some  dark,  un- 
figured  tapestry,  which  added  to  the  somberness  of  the 
apartment,  and  tended  to  spread  over  all  an  air  of  gloom. 
The  dimness  of  the  place  was  in  some  degree  relieved 
by  a  crackling  fire  burning  upon  the  hearth,  and  two 


WHY   MASTER    FAWKES   WAS  SUMMONED.     47 

silver  candelabrums  holding  lighted  tapers,  stood  upon  an 
oaken  table  occupying  the  middle  of  the  room. 

The  only  window  in  the  place  opened  down  to  the 
floor,  leading  out  upon  a  balcony  overlooking  the  court- 
yard, and  the  interior  of  the  chamber  was  hidden  from 
those  passing  by  heavy  curtains,  which  now  were  closely 
drawn.  A  divan,  several  massive  black  oak  cabinets, 
and  three  or  four  high-back  chairs  completed  the  furni- 
ture of  the  room,  with  the  exception  of  a  small  table,  on 
which  stood  a  large  and  curiously  wrought  silver  flagon 
and  several  tankards. 

"Come  Master  Guy,"  cried  Winter,  filling  two  of  the 
cups,  "let  us  preface  dry  work  with  a  drink  of  honest 
vintage,  and  then  we  will  to  our  task." 

"With  all  my  heart/'  replied  Fawkes,  taking  the  cup 
and  draining  it  at  a  draught. 

"And  now  to  business,"  exclaimed  the  other,  seating 
himself  by  the  table  and  motioning  his  companion  to  a 
place  opposite.  Having  settled  himself  easily  in  the 
chair,  shading  his  face  from  the  light  of  the  tapers  that  he 
might  better  watch  the  countenance  of  the  other,  he  be- 
gan in  a  quiet  voice: 

"I  doubt  not  but  thou  didst  deem  it  passing  strange  I 
made  no  reference  to  the  nature  of  the  employment  I  had 
to  offer  thee,  and,  mayhap,"  he  continued,  holding  up  his 
hand  to  silence  an  interruption  from  his  listener,  "there 
hath  arisen  in  thy  mind  suspicious  thoughts  caused 
by  a  combination  of  incidents  since  thy  arrival,  which 
would  place  me  as  one  with  whom  to  be  identified  were 
not  as  safe  as  serving  in  the  King's  Guard.  In  point  of 
fact,  I  refer  particularly  to  the  outspoken  words  of  our 
friend  Giles  Martin." 

"In  truth,"  responded  the  other,  in  that  quick,  brusque 


48  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

manner  belonging  to  his  nature,  "Master  Martin  did  lay 
naught  at  thy  door,  but  what  I,  or  any  other  righteous 
man,  might  deem  an  honor  to  a  house.  Nay,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  some  vehemence,  "if  what  he  said  be  true, 
then  I  am  overjoyed  to  find  employment  with  one  whose 
faith  is  his  greatest  crime." 

"What  may  be  the  purport  of  thy  words?"  inquired 
Winter,  slowly  turning  a  keen  glance  upon  the  speaker. 

"I  mean,"  exclaimed  Fawkes,  leaning  over  the  table 
toward  his  questioner,  "that  I  would  think  it  no  disgrace 
to  serve,  or,  if  need  be,  fall  by  the  side  of  one  who  had 
the  courage  to  openly  or  secretly  espouse  the  Catholic 
cause  in  these  cross-breaking  days.  Aye,  Sir  Thomas, 
I  will  speak  without  concealment,  for  I  have  guessed  at 
many  things,  and  know  full  well  that  the  time  must  soon 
be  ripe  when  all  who  have  not  craven  hearts  will  arise  in 
wrath,  and  by  word  of  mouth,  or  mayhap,  if  need  be,  by  a 
more  violent  measure  put  down  those  who  advise  the 
enactment  of  laws  which  have  for  their  intent  the  uproot- 
ing of  the  Church  in  this  our  Kingdom." 

"By  St.  Michael!"  exclaimed  Winter,  surprised  that 
the  other  should  bring  to  the  front  so  clearly  his  opinion 
on  a  subject  upon  which,  he  had  feared,  it  would  require 
no  small  amount  of  questioning  to  elicit  anything,  "thou 
dost  astonish  me  with  thine  ardor;  I  always  knew  thee  as 
a  brave  churchman,  but  never " 

"Time  hath  altered  my  views  on  many  subjects,"  inter- 
rupted Fawkes.  "The  manners  of  the  Spaniard  are  not 
always  good,  and  their  breath  is  oft  odorous  of  garlic; 
but  by  my  troth,  they  know  full  well  how  to  treat  a 
heretic,"  he  added  with  a  decisive  nod  of  his  head.  "Say 
on,  for  by  thy  manner  I  judge  it  is  thine  object  to  sound 
my  depth  in  certain  matters.  I  know  not  what's  afoot ;  but 


WHY    MASTER    FAWKES   WAS  SUMMONED.     49 

by  St.  Peter,"  continued  he,  striking  the  table  a  blow 
which  made  the  tapers  dance,  "if  it  hath  aught  to  do  with 
those — even  though  they  be  kings — whose  unholy  hands 
would  snuff  our  altar  lights,  thou  canst  count  on  Master 
Guy  to  twist  the  rack  or  carry  faggots." 

During  this  recital  Winter  watched  the  other  with 
keen  attention.  Knowing  Fawkes  to  be  a  man  of  indom- 
itable will,  combined  with  undaunted  courage,  and  one  to 
stop  at  nothing  in  gaining  ends  justified  by  his  con- 
science, he  had  not  hesitated  to  recommend  him  as  a  valu- 
able adjunct  to  the  cause  dear  to  himself  and  his  com- 
panions. Heavily  the  weight  of  responsibility  rested 
upon  him;  it  had  fallen  to  his  lot  that  he  should  be  the 
one  to  sound  this  man,  and  decide  as  to  how  great  or 
small  a  degree  of  their  confidence  might  be  given  to  him. 
One  error  in  judgment  now  might  be  followed  by  the 
death  of  all  their  hopes,  and  by  the  thud  of  heads  drop- 
ping into  the  axman's  basket.  Therefore  he  weighed  the 
matter  well  before  saying: 

"I  did  not  over-estimate  thy  zeal.  There  are  many 
things  I  would  fain  tell  thee,  the  purport  of  which  me- 
thinks  thou  hast  already  guessed,  but  which  at  present 
must  not,  for  reasons,  be  spoken  of.  If  thou  art  willing 
for  a  time  to  remain  in  darkness,  and  take  service  as  a 
gentleman  about  my  household,  I  can  almost  promise 
that  the  gloom  of  thy  ignorance  on  many  matters  may 
soon  be  dispelled  by  a  lurid  glare  which  shall  be  red 
enough,  even  to  thy  liking.  I  have  told  thee  naught,  but 
the  very  concealment  of  some  things,  to  the  observing, 
doth  show  plainly  what  is  hid.  Ask  no  more,  and,  for 
the  present,  content  thyself  with  suppositions.  If  the 
conditions  which  I  have  named  suit  thee,  then  thou  wilt 
have  access  to  these  premises  at  all  times.  Further,  be 


50  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

my  companion  when  I  go  abroad;  for  what  is  more  nat- 
ural in  these  purse-cutting  days  than  that  a  gentleman 
should  desire  a  lusty  swordsman  with  him?  Dost  accept, 
and  agree  to  all?"  The  last  word  he  pronounced  with 
great  emphasis. 

"Aye,  to  all,"  responded  the  other  grimly,  arising  and 
extending  his  gauntlet. 

"And  I  would  further  recommend,"  continued  Winter, 
drumming  on  the  table  with  his  fingers,  "that  thou  say 
but  little  about  this  meeting,  even,"  looking  narrowly  at 
Fawkes,  "to  thy  pretty  daughter;  for  I  have  remarked 
there  is  sometimes  a  certain  visitor  at  thy  house  who,  if 
the  report  did  reach  his  ears  that  two  or  three  gentlemen 
of  the  Catholic  persuasion  were  closeted  together,  might 
denounce  the  assembling  as  a  conspiracy, — which  would 
be  most  unjust — and  bring  the  King's  Guard  with  small 
courtesy.  Dost  follow  me,  friend  Guido?" 

"That  I  do;  but  there's  naught  to  fear;  I  know  your 
meaning.  Heretics  will  no  more  darken  my  door." 

"That  is  well,  and  I  hope,  truly  spoken,"  replied  Win- 
ter, nodding  his  head  in  approval,  and  rising  from  his 
chair  with  an  air  of  relief  that  the  business  of  the  evening 
was  settled.  "Let  us,"  he  continued,  filling  up  the  cups, 
"drink  success  to  our  compact." 

"Ah!"  cried  Fawkes,  pointing  to  the  wine  as  it  flowed 
from  the  flagon's  mouth,  "A  most  fitting  color  be  the 
draught;"  then,  as  he  raised  the  tankard  to  his  lips,  "A 
toast,  Sir  Thomas,  I  will  offer  thee.  May  we  be  as  will- 
ing to  give  our  blood  when  asked,  as  this  good  flagon 
to  yield  its  red  cheer  to  us!  And  now  I  must  set  out 
for  home,  and  'tis  with  a  lighter  heart  than  when  I  came. 
Dost  thou  wish  my  presence  here  to-morrow?"  he  in- 
quired as  they  reached  the  door. 


WHY   MASTER    FAWKES   WAS  SUMMONED.     51 

"Thou  mayst  call  on  the  stroke  of  ten,  or  thereabouts. 
Until  then,  farewell." 

The  host  watched  the  form  of  his  guest  disappear  in 
the  darkness,  and  shutting  the  door,  returned  with  a 
thoughtful  step  to  the  chamber  wherein  they  had  been 
sitting.  Filling  a  cup  with  wine  and  raising  it  on  high, 
he  exclaimed  with  a  laugh:  "Troth,  Master  Fawkes,  I 
did  drink  to  thy  health  awhile  ago;  now  I  will  quaff  a 
flagon  to  thy  daughter.  Here  is  to  one,  Mistress  Elinor, 
the  fairest,  the  sweetest  wench  in  all  England,  and  for 
one  warm  kiss  from  whose  lips  Sir  Thomas  Winter 
would  right  gladly  face  grim  death.  Marry,"  he  mused, 
setting  down  the  cup,  "thou  hast  done,  mayhap,  a  good 
stroke  for  the  cause,  in  bringing  this  bloodhound  Fawkes 
from  out  of  Spain,  but  young  Monteagle,  beware;  for  if 
I  be  judge,  the  Spanish  treatment  of  a  heretic  leaves  but 
little  for  the  burial." 


$2  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE   WISEST   FOOL   IN   CHRISTENDOM. 

The  Royal  Court  of  King  James,  at  Whitehall,  was 
furnished  and  embellished  with  all  the  luxury  which  love 
of  show  and  the  power  of  the  owner  could  command. 
Choicest  tapestries  draped  the  walls,  carpets  of  marvelous 
softness  covered  the  floors.  In  the  King's  bedchamber 
stood  an  elaborately  carved  bedstead  canopied  with  per- 
fumed velvet  cunningly  wrought  in  silk  and  gold.  Upon 
its  front  glittered  the  royal  arms  of  England. 

Reared  as  he  had  been  in  the  plainness  of  Scottish 
simplicity,  the  wealth  and  lavish  display  in  the  English 
manor  houses  where  he  had  rested  during  his  journey 
from  Edinburgh  delighted  and  enchanted  him  in  the 
highest  degree.  Vain,  fond  of  indolent  diversions,  and 
prodigal  in  expenditures,  he  at  once  surrounded  himself 
with  the  choicest  products  of  the  wavers,  decorators  and 
artisans  of  the  Continent. 

In  a  chamber  of  this  palace,  on  the  second  afternoon 
following  the  meeting  of  Catesby  with  Rookwood  and 
Anne  Vaux  at  the  hiding  place  of  the  Jesuit  Superior,  an 
interesting  conversation  took  place  between  the  Queen's 
lady-in-waiting,  and  one  Robert  Carr,  a  Scotchman,  and 
favorite  of  the  King.  After  James  ascended  the  throne 
of  England  he  meted  out  ample  measure  to  his  country- 
men, likening  himself  to  Joseph,  who,  being  raised  to 
power,  forgot  not  his  brethren.  That  this  Robert  was 
of  goodly  parts,  being  fair  of  feature  and  elegant  of  limb, 
rendered  him  the  more  acceptable  to  his  royal  master; 


THE   WISEST   FOOL   IN   CHRISTENDOM.        53 

forsooth,  there  were  few  of  the  nobles  in  the  two  king- 
doms but  knew  certain  tales  concerning  the  favorites  of 
the  King,  young  gallants  of  the  period  whose  presence 
at  Court  added  nothing  to  the  honor  of  their  sovereign. 

Robert  Carr,  a  person  of  deep  perception  and  gifted 
with  certain  Scottish  wit,  pandered  much  to  the  follies 
and  pride  of  his  benefactor.  He  was  also  a  man  easily 
excited  by  beauty  of  face  and  grace  of  manner,  and  had 
fallen  desperately  in  love  with  Mistress  Vaux,  to  his 
own  undoing  and  the  jealousy  of  the  Queen's  women.  It 
was  this  state  of  affairs  which  the  Jesuit  had  reckoned 
upon,  when,  in  casting  about  for  an  expedient  to  check 
the  fiery  zeal  of  Sir  Robert  Catesby,  he  had  suggested 
that  one  dwelt  at  Court  who  might  learn  what  was  in  the 
mind  of  the  King  concerning  certain  policies.  Being  in- 
structed by  Garnet  what  course  to  pursue,  Anne  Vaux, 
on  her  return  to  Whitehall,  made  haste  to  summon  into 
her  presence  the  King's  favorite.  Nor  did  Carr  need  a 
second  bidding  to  betake  himself  to  the  lady's  chamber. 

"Sweet  Anne!"  cried  he,  dropping  upon  his  knee  be- 
fore the  maid-in-waiting,  "thou  hast  saved  me  from  de- 
spair. Knowest  thou  'tis  eight  and  forty  hours  since  thy 
gentle  presence  hath  made  earth  to  me  a  paradise?" 

"Nay,  good  Robert!"  replied  she,  demurely  casting 
down  her  eyes,  yet  permitting  the  gallant  to  retain  her 
hand,  "Speak  not  of  despair;  thou  who  hast  so  high  a 
place  with  our  royal  master.  Amid  thy  pleasures  the 
absence  of  Anne  Vaux  can  be  but  of  small  moment  unto 
thee." 

Carr  covered  her  hand  with  kisses. 

"Whitehall  without  thee  is  a  barren  wilderness/'  cried 
he,  "for  thee  would  I  barter  faith,  honor " 

Anne  raised  her  head  until  her  eyes  met  his. 


54  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"Nay,  sweet  gentleman!"  said  she,  softly,  "'tis  not  faith, 
nor  honor  I  would  ask  of  thee;  'tis " 

"Speak!"  murmured  Carr,  overcome  by  his  emotions. 
"Speak,  that  I  may  serve  thee." 

"Tis  but  little,"  replied  the  lady,  "yet  would  it  please 
me  much,  and  thou  art  able  to  converse  freely  with  his 
Majesty." 

"The  King!"  cried  Carr,  alarmed  that  the  name  of 
James  should  enter  into  his  love  making.  "What  wouldst 
thou  with  the  King?" 

Anne  withdrew  her  hand.  "Ah!"  cried  she,  pushing 
him  gently  from  her,  "  'tis  so  little,  yet  thou  wouldst 
withhold  thy  courtesy.  There  be  certain  other  gentle- 
men, my  lord  of " 

"Say  not  so,"  stammered  the  courtier,  "be  it  the  crown 
itself."  His  companion  laughed  merrily.  "The  crown!" 
cried  she,  "what  would  Anne  Vaux  with  the  crown  of 
England?  'Tis  but  a  simple  question,  a  word  with  his 
Majesty,  that  I  may  gain  a  wager." 

"Speak  then,"  said  Carr,  "that  I  may  hasten  to  obey 
thee." 

"Thou  knowest,"  replied  Anne,  "there  be  much  serious 
speculation,  many  theories  formed  throughout  the  king- 
dom concerning  the  mind  of  the  King  regarding  the  pen- 
alties against  the  Catholics.  Some  there  be  who  hold 
'tis  the  King's  wish  that  the  ordinances,  or  edicts  of 
Elizabeth,  be  removed  utterly,  while  others  affirm  that 
James  doth  join  with  Parliament  for  their  maintenance. 
Having  been  drawn  into  an  argument  with  certain  of  my 
mistress'  ladies,  a  wager  was  made,  that  ere  the  morrow 
the  truth  of  the  matter  should  to  me  be  disclosed." 

The  look  on  her  companion's  face  changed  to  conster- 
nation. 


THE  WISEST   FOOL  IN   CHRISTENDOM.        55 

"Ask  the  King  concerning  so  grave  a  matter?"  cried 
he. 

"A  truce,  Master  Carr!"  replied  Anne,  sharply,  "it 
needeth  small  perception  to  discern  thy  temper.  Thou 
dost  ask  much,  yet  givest  little." 

The  King's  favorite  was  nonplussed.  To  question 
James  concerning  affairs  of  State  was  no  light  matter, 
yet,  in  opposition  to  so  doing  stood  the  anger  and  the 
loss  of  Mistress  Vaux.  This  thought,  which  he  could 
not  endure,  caused  him  to  hesitate. 

"Be  it  so!"  said  the  lady,  coldly,  "Thou  hast  refused 
so  small  a  favor,  therefore  will  I  summon  one  who,  me- 
thinks,  hath  more  consideration."  And  she  moved  as 
though  to  touch  the  bell  upon  the  table. 

The  action,  indicating  his  dismissal,  removed  all 
scruples  which  had  arisen  in  the  mind  of  the  courtier,  and 
kneeling  before  her  he  pledged  himself  to  at  once  seek 
an  audience  with  the  King,  who,  having  passed  the  after- 
noon in  hunting,  was  resting  in  his  own  apartments. 

Pleased  that  her  object  had  been  so  easily  gained,  Anne 
permitted  the  enraptured  Scotchman  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms,  then  he  rushed  from  the  chamber  hoping  after  a 
short  interview  with  the  King  to  return  to  her. 

As  Carr  had  intimated,  James,  wearied  by  several  hours 
in  the  saddle,  for  it  was  his  pleasure  to  hunt  or  horse- 
back in  Waltham  forest  and  in  other  royal  chases,  had 
retired  early  to  his  bed  chamber.  He  had  eaten  heartily, 
for  despite  his  ungainly  person  the  First  of  the  Stuarts 
was  a  famous  trenchman.  Freed  from  his  quilted  clothes 
and  mellow  with  strong  wine,  he  admitted  to  his  pres- 
ence two  gentlemen  who  sought  an  audience. 

The  noblemen  who  were  thus  occupants  of  the  royal 
chamber  stood  in  strong  contrast  to  the  Sovereign  of 


56  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

England.  Their  large  and  gracefully  proportioned  fig- 
ures were  made  most  conspicuous  by  the  big  head,  rick- 
ety legs  and  dwarfed  body  of  their  royal  master,  while 
the  calm  dignity  which  enveloped  them  set  forth  vividly 
the  driveling  speech,  and  coarseness  of  him  whom  the 
death  of  the  last  of  the  Tudors  had  placed  upon  the 
throne. 

"Ah!"  cried  James,  perceiving  the  gentlemen  upon  the 
threshold,  "welcome  most  worthy  Monteagle  and  Vis- 
count Effingston!  Hast  thou  then  an  answer  to  my  ar- 
gument?" 

The  lips  of  the  younger  nobleman  trembled  nervously 
as  he  sought  to  repress  a  smile,  but  his  companion  ad- 
vanced quickly  to  the  royal  couch  upon  which  the  King 
had  stretched  himself. 

"The  wisdom  of  your  Majesty  is  indeed  unanswerable," 
said  he  bending  to  kiss  the  hand  held  out  to  him. 

James  chuckled  loudly. 

"Tis  my  pleasure  to  discourse  on  certain  matters," 
replied  he,  "and  my  good  lord  of  Monteagle,  being  well 
versed  in  the  learning  of  the  period,  doth  turn  with  relish 
to  a  well  written  document.  It  was,  methinks,  concern- 
ing the  True  Law  of  Free  Monarchy.' ' 

"Nay,  your  Majesty,"  replied  Monteagle,  drawing  a 
paper  from  his  doublet,  "'twas  thy  most  learned  discourse 
on  tobacco." 

The  Viscount  Efrmgston,  who  stood  well  behind  his 
father,  turned  aside  his  face,  that  the  King  might  not  note 
the  smile  upon  it.  James,  however,  having  plunged  into 
one  of  his  pedantic  hobbies,  had  small  perception  of  aught 
aside  from  the  discourse  in  hand. 

"Twas,  in  truth!"  cried  he,  "a  most  learned  writing, 


THE   WISEST   FOOL  IN   CHRISTENDOM.        57 

bearing  upon  the  use  of  an  ill-savored  weed.  What 
thinkest  thou,  my  lord?" 

"Tis  indeed  most  ably  written,"  replied  Monteagle, 
"and  being  much  impressed  with  the  wisdom  so  plainly 
set  forth,  I  did  read  it  aloud  to  several  of  my  gentlemen." 

"And  what  said  they,  good  Monteagle?" 

"That  your  Majesty  had,  in  truth,  touched  the  heart  of 
the  matter,"  replied  the  peer.  "Even  Sir  Raleigh,  upon 
the  reading  of  it,  would,  methinks,  turn  from  the  habit." 

"That  would  he,"  said  the  King,  gruffly,  for  the  name 
of  Raleigh  was  in  no  wise  pleasing  to  him. 

"A  most  excellent  document!"  broke  in  the  Viscount, 
"my  worthy  father  was  about  to  beg  your  Majesty  for 
further  discourse  on  so  grave  a  matter." 

Monteagle  cast  a  look  of  keen  reproach  at  his  son; 
'twas  not  for  the  pleasure  of  discussing  the  "Counter- 
blast To  Tobacco,"  the  famous  literary  production  of  the 
King,  that  he  had  sought  this  audience.  James,  how- 
ever, was  highly  pleased  at  the  young  man's  words. 

"Good  Monteagle!"  cried  he,  "thy  son  is  a  worthy 
gentleman,  and  methinks  our  reign  will  see  him  a  most 
favored  peer.  Instruct  him,  that  he  fall  not  into  certain 
habits  as  to  bells  and  candlesticks,  nor  give  ear  too  seri- 
ously to  the  teachings  of  them  who  would  embroil  our 
kingdom." 

At  this  moment  Robert  Carr,  hastening  to  the  royal 
bed  chamber,  in  order  to  obey  the  wishes  of  Mistress 
Vaux,  entered  the  ante-room  and  hearing  his  master  in 
converse  with  others,  paused  noiselessly  behind  the  cur- 
tains. 

"Faith!"  continued  James,  receiving  no  reply  from 
Monteagle  or  his  son,  "it  is  rumored  that  thou  also  hath 


58  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

dealt  somewhat  closely  with  these  disturbers  of  the  king- 
dom." 

Alarmed  at  the  character  of  the  conversation  assumed 
by  the  King,  the  nobleman  would  have  checked  it  by  well 
timed  flattery,  but  James  was  not  to  be  turned  from  his 
purpose. 

"It  doth  much  annoy  me,"  prated  he,  "that  certain  re- 
ports are  spread  abroad  making  it  seem  my  desire, 
against  the  wishes  of  our  good  Parliament,  to  remit  cer- 
tain fines " 

Carr,  whose  ear  was  pressed  close  against  the  curtain, 
rubbed  his  hands  together  in  exultation  that  there  was 
like  to  be,  without  discomfort  to  himself,  something 
ready  for  the  ear  of  the  Queen's  waiting  woman. 

"And  divers  statutes  against  those  who  would  bring 
back  the  Jesuits,"  continued  James,  plucking  impatiently 
the  fringe  of  his  couch  cover. 

"Your  Majesty  is,  in  truth,  the  spring  of  justice,"  said 
Monteagle,  soberly,  "and  it  ill  befits  thy  subjects,  be  they 
Puritans  or  Catholics,  to " 

A  wave  of  passion  swept  across  the  royal  face. 

"Puritans  and  Catholics!"  cried  he,  sitting  upright. 
"Zounds!  What  then?  Am  I  not  king?  Wherefore 
should  I  tolerate  in  this  good  kingdom  those  who  teach 
treason  in  their  churches?" 

Monteagle's  position  was  truly  equivocal.  The  son  of 
a  Protestant  peer,  through  his  marriage,  early  in  life,  with 
the  daughter  of  a  Catholic,  he  became  involved  in  certain 
Papistic  plots,  and  listened  to  the  teachings  of  the  mis- 
sionary priests.  James  had  made  him  the  recipient  of 
many  court  favors,  for  the  maintenance  of  which,  Mont- 
eagle,  balancing  the  advantages  of  his  position  against 


THE   WISEST    FOOL  IN   CHRISTENDOM.        59 

the  loss  which  might  accrue  to  him  were  he  to  boldly  ad- 
here to  his  religion,  had  become  lukewarm  in  the  faith 
of  the  Catholics,  and  this  had  brought  him  into  disrepute 
with  his  old  associates. 

"Tis  a  grave  matter  that  there  be  any  in  England 
whose  faith  takes  precedence  of  their  loyalty,"  said  he, 
the  King  ceasing  his  harangue  through  lack  of  breath. 

"Thou  sayest  rightly!"  cried  he,  "nor  will  I  abate  one 
jot  or  tittle  from  that  I  have  set  before  me.  As  it  is 
atheism  and  blasphemy  to  dispute  what  is  in  God's  power, 
so  it  is  presumption  and  high  contempt  for  a  subject  to 
question  a  king's  will;  nor  should  a  king  abate  even  the 
breadth  of  a  hair  from  that  right  which  his  prerogative 
gives  unto  him." 

The  Viscount  Effingston  pulled  his  father's  sleeve. 

"We  had  best  retire,"  he  whispered,  "the  wine  hath 
mounted  to  the  head  of  yonder  fool,  and,  perchance,  he 
may  see  in  thee  a  Raleigh  or  a  Cobham." 

The  King  was,  indeed,  weary  of  the  interview.  The 
exertion  of  the  afternoon,  the  heated  room,  the  wine  and 
the  ill  temper  into  which  he  had  fallen,  deprived  him  of 
his  usual  wit,  leaving  him  only  boorish  and  irritable. 

"My  lord  Monteagle,"  said  he,  peevishly,  "it  pleases 
me  that  you  retire,  for  a  certain  languor  of  the  body  ren- 
dereth  our  discourse  unprofitable." 

The  words  of  his  son  had  startled  the  nobleman  from 
his  usual  composure,  and  receiving  the  King's  permission 
to  retire,  he  made  haste  to  kiss  the  royal  hand,  well 
pleased  that  the  audience  was  ended,  although  certain 
favors  which  he  desired  to  ask  of  his  Majesty  remained 
unspoken. 

"Faith!"  said  the  favorite,  as  the  two  peers  passed  his 

6 


60  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

hiding  place,  "I  have,  indeed,  had  a  most  fortunate  es- 
cape, for  James  is  in  poor  condition  to  discuss  even  with 
Robert  Carr,  that  which  sent  him  hither." 

Then,  as  the  King's  valets  crowded  into  the  chamber, 
summoned  by  the  furious  ringing  of  their  master's  bell, 
he  looked  for  an  instant  upon  the  half-drunken  mon- 
arch, dropped  the  curtain  and  hastened  down  the  corridor 
that  he  might  relate  to  Mistress  Vaux  that  which  he  had 
overheard. 


THE  VISCOUNT  EFFINGSTON.  6l 


CHAPTER   VII. 
THE  VISCOUNT  EFFINGSTON. 

Rare  and  luxurious  were  the  furnishings  of  a  room  in 
which  we  find  Lord  Monteagle  and  his  son.  Wealth  and 
artistic  hands  had  combined  to  bring  all  its  sumptuous- 
ness  into  a  rich  and  harmonious  completeness.  The 
elder,  who  had  just  entered,  walked  with  troubled  brow 
toward  the  window.  The  other,  tall  and  strong,  with 
features  of  fine  proportion  and  graceful  contour,  clad  in 
a  style  denoting  the  aristocrat  and  man  of  fashion,  sat 
at  a  desk  engaged  in  writing.  For  a  time  the  only  sound 
breaking  the  silence  was  the  sharp  scratching  of  a  goose- 
quill  as  it  traveled  over  the  paper.  At  last,  having  fin- 
ished, and  observing  the  other  for  the  first  time,  he  re- 
marked, as  he  folded  the  sheet: 

"My  lord,  hast  thou  so  soon  returned  from  the  audi- 
ence? Did  aught  transpire  to  ruffle  thy  temper?  Or, 
mayhap,"  he  continued  with  a  laugh,  "His  Majesty  did 
read  thee  an  essay  on  How  to  Take  Snuff  Without  a 
Nose,  or  some  other  learned  subject  dear  to  his  heart." 

"Not  so,  my  son,"  Monteagle  replied  with  gravity; 
"but  I  have  heard  again  rumors  which  set  but  ill  upon 
my  mind.  Tis  the  talk  of  the  ante-chamber,  and  the  first 
words  which  did  greet  my  ear  on  entering  came  from 
that  silly,  chattering  coxcomb,  Robert  Carr,  who,  ad- 
vancing, enquired  in  a  low  voice,  but  which  at  the  same 
time  filled  the  room,  whether  my  daughter-in-law  would 
be  the  new  lady  in  waiting  upon  the  Queen.  These  many 
days  the  talk  that  hath  been  afoot  connects  thy  name  with 


62  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

one  whose  ancestral  lineage  will  not  bear  scrutiny,  and, 
for  truth,  much  this  gossip  hath  troubled  me." 

Effingston  reddened,  and  turned  in  his  chair  toward 
the  speaker,  suppressing  an  angry  retort  which  sprang  to 
his  lips:  "My  lord,  dost  thou  believe  all  that  Dame 
Rumor  whispereth?" 

"No,  verily,  being  too  long  connected  with  affairs  of 
State,  but,  in  my  anxiety,  I  made  inquiry,  and  much  it 
paineth  me  to  find  these  same  reports  seem  to  have  foun- 
dation. I  do  not  demand  but  beg  an  explanation  from 
thy  lips,  to  hear  if  that  be  true  which  reached  my  ear." 

"Your  lordship  knows,"  returned  the  other  with  an 
inclination  of  the  head,  "that  thy  request  is  to  me  a  com- 
mand; therefore,  I  tell  thee  frankly  that  what  thou  heard 
this  morning  is  to  an  extent  well  founded.  Thou  canst 
be  sparing  of  thy  fears,"  he  continued  as  the  other  was 
about  to  interrupt,  "and  ever  be  assured,  respect  for  Lord 
Monteagle,  my  father,  and  pride,  the  inheritance  of  the 
noble  born,  will  deter  Viscount  Effingston  from  actions 
which  his  conscience  might  perchance  approve.  I  will 
not  disgrace  thee  or  thy  name,"  he  concluded,  with  a 
touch  of  haughtiness  in  his  tone. 

"I  have  not  yet  accused  thee  of  bringing  discredit  upon 
our  house,  and  devoutly  hope  my  fears  are  but  absurd, 
born  of  that  doubt  which  seemeth  to  be  resident  in  the 
minds  of  men  one  for  the  other.  By  my  troth,  we  can 
seldom  point  with  certainty  in  these  days  to  one  of  our 
fellow  creatures,  and  say  truly,  I  know  him  to  be  good  and 
free  from  treason.  It  would,  I  swear,"  he  continued, 
with  a  sigh,  "little  surprise  me,  to  hear  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  had  been  seen  to  hold  his  crosier  for  a  pretty 
wench  to  leap  across,  that  he  might  the  better  gaze  upon 
her  ankles.  Thou  art  a  man  grown;  therefore,  I  can 


THE  VISCOUNT  EFFINGSTON.  63 

but  counsel.  But  this  I  know:  love  for  one  below  thy 
station,  though  she  have  all  purity  and  moral  excellence, 
seldom  ends  in  marriage;  if  by  chance  it  doth  bring  thee 
to  the  altar,  repentance  with  its  dismal  train  follows  far 
too  often,  even  ere  the  echo  of  the  chimes  hath  died 
away." 

"Thy  counsel  did,  and  ever  shall  stand  high  in  my 
regard,"  replied  Effingston.  "But  thy  fears  are  ground- 
less. I  do  admit  that  she  to  whom  thou  dost  refer  is  not 
of  highest  birth;  still,  her  ancestors  helped  to  keep  the 
crown  upon  a  king's  head,  and  methinks,  deserve  more 
credit  for  acting  thus  without  reward  than  though  they 
bore  the  title  of  a  Duke  or  Prince.  As  thou  hast  asked, 
and  with  perfect  justice,  I  will  tell  the  story  from  its  be- 
ginning. Thou  might  misjudge  if  thy  mind  held  its  pres- 
ent suspicion,  and  it  would  lead  to  setting  aside  of  con- 
fidences which,  it  hath  been  my  happiness  to  feel,  did 
ever  exist  between  us." 

"Thou  sayest  well,"  replied  the  other,  with  affection. 
"I  have  always  looked  upon  thee  as  my  sword  arm,  to 
carry  out  by  thy  young  strength  the  deeds  which  time 
hath  left  me  ill  conditioned  to  perform." 

"Thou  remembrest,"  began  Effingston,  "the  night 
three  months  since,  I  rode  to  Chartsey  Manor,  with  in- 
tent to  sound  Lord  Cecil  regarding  his  attitude  on  issues 
then  before  Parliament.  It  was  midnight  ere  I  left,  and 
well  on  toward  the  stroke  of  two  when  I  arrived  in  the 
outskirts  of  London.  Proceeding  slowly  on  my  way, 
drinking  in  deeply  the  beauties  of  the  night,  suddenly 
there  sounded  upon  my  startled  ear  a  woman's  scream, 
which  quickly  ceased,  as  if  she  who  uttered  it  had  been 
rudely  seized  about  the  throat.  I  reined  up  my  horse  and 
listened.  Distinctly  could  I  hear,  not  two  hundred  paces 


64  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

from  me,  the  sound  of  scuffling  feet  and  an  outburst  of 
drunken  laughter,  ending  in  a  round  of  fiendish  cursing. 
'Hold,'  cried  I,  'wait  until  I  can  loose  my  sword  and  lend 
thee  aid.'  Saying  which,  I  hastily  dismounted,  throwing 
the  bridle  of  my  horse  over  a  bush  hard  by,  and  hurried 
in  the  direction  of  the  tumult.  On  turning  a  corner, 
there  came  upon  my  sight  a  scene  which  made  my  blood 
boil  and  lent  new  speed  to  my  legs.  Two  ruffians  had  set 
upon  a  woman,  and  while  one  held  back  her  chin  and 
shoulders,  the  other  was  endeavoring  to  imprint  a  kiss 
upon  the  upturned  face,  the  rogue  being  hindered  in  his 
purpose  by  the  girl,  who,  holding  in  her  hand  a  small 
dagger,  lunged  right  boldly  with  it.  'Avaunt  ye, 
knaves,'  I  cried,  running,  sword  in  hand.  Before,  how- 
ever, I  could  reach  the  struggling  group  she  had  struck 
the  man  in  front  of  her,  causing  him  for  a  moment  to 
desist,  when,  with  a  sudden  accession  of  strength,  break- 
ing away  from  the  one  who  held  her,  she  set  her  back 
against  the  wall,  confronting  the  two  assailants  with  the 
look  and  spirit  of  a  tigress.  The  men,  now  for  the  first 
time  perceiving  me,  having  been  too  deep  in  liquor  and 
their  employment  to  hear  my  shout,  took  to  their  heels, 
but  not  until  I  had  spoiled  the  sword  arm  of  one  and  left 
my  mark  upon  the  other.  Turning  toward  the  girl  who 
stood  by  the  wall,  I  discovered  the  momentary  spirit  had 
left  her,  for  again  she  was  the  weak  woman  and  would 
have  fallen  fainting  to  the  ground,  had  I  not  given  her 
support.  She  soon  revived,  and  having  received  her 
thanks,  prettily  given,  I  inquired  how  it  fell  out  she  had 
been  so  rudely  set  upon ;  in  reply  to  which  she  told  me  of 
her  grandam  being  taken  ill,  and  in  need  of  a  leech,  and 
how  she  had  gone  forth  to  fetch  him,  and  was  attacked, 
when  returning  from  her  errand.  On  begging  that  she 


THE  VISCOUNT  EFFINGSTON.  65 

would  permit  me  to  see  her  safely  home,  my  offer  was 
accepted  with  thanks.  When  arrived  at  our  destination 
she  asked  if  I  would  not  on  the  next  day  return,  that  she 
might  more  fully  express  her  gratitude.  Thou  knowest, 
my  father,  how  love  grows  in  the  heart.  At  first  my 
feeling  was  one  of  curiosity ;  but  it  soon  changed  to  ad- 
miration for  the  fair  girl,  and,  at  last  it  ripened  into  love, 
as  I  learned  to  know  the  soul  which  rested  in  her  beau- 
tiful form.  This  is  my  simple  story,  and  I  have  naught 
more  to  tell." 

"My  son/'  replied  the  other,  who  had  listened  with 
eager  attention  to  the  narrative,  "there's  naught,  so  far, 
that  I  condemn,  and  I  applaud  thee  for  thy  chivalry,  but  I 
had  higher  hopes  for  thee  than  a  marriage  with  a  com- 
moner. Thou  hast,  however,  omitted  to  tell  me  her 
name,"  he  added,  in  a  voice  betokening  anxiety. 

"Her  name  is  Elinor  Fawkes,  the  daughter  of  an  offi- 
cer, English  by  birth,  now  serving  in  the  army  of  Spain." 

"Elinor  Fawkes,"  repeated  the  father,  with  a  start  and 
looking  toward  Effingston.  "  'Tis  as  I  feared.  Is  this, 
then,  the  creature  on  whom  thou  wouldst  bestow  thy 
name?  Have  thine  ears  been  out  of  sorts,  never  to  have 
heard  the  rumor  which  connects  her  in  none  too  savory 
a  manner  with  the  adventurer  Sir  Thomas  Winter?  It 
is  common  talk,  for  I  will  speak  plainly  to  thee,  that  she 
is  his  mistress." 

"In  thy  throat  thou  liest,"  the  other  cried,  leaping  to 
his  feet,  white  to  the  lips  with  sudden  passion;  "recall 
those  words,  or  by  St.  Paul,  I'll  strike  thee  to  my  feet, 
forgetting  the  loins  which  begat  me !  She  hath  fully  told 
me  of,  and  set  aside,  the  lie  which  coupleth  her  with  Sir 
Thomas  Winter." 

"Aye,  she  hath  explained  to  thee  readily  enough,  I 


66  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

trow,"  exclaimed  the  other,  roused  to  anger.  "Lives 
there  the  woman  who  could  not  make  excuses  if  but  a 
moment  were  granted  her?  I  shall  not  chide  thee  for 
thy  hasty  words;  time  will  bring  them  to  thy  memory 
with  remorse.  But  listen  unto  reason,  and " 

"I'll  hear  no  more,"  Effingston  cried,  in  a  voice  full  of 
passion. 

"Stop,"  said  Monteagle,  in  a  commanding  voice,  hold- 
ing up  his  hand,  "thou  shalt  hear!  Doth  the  leech  with- 
hold the  lance  when  a  patient  groans?  No,  my  son;  I'll 
introduce  thee  to  plain  facts,  and  try  to  cure,  even  though 
my  duty  be  a  hard  one." 

Effingston  sank  into  his  chair,  his  temper  cooled  to  a 
degree  by  his  father's  manner,  and  listened  with  com- 
pressed lips  and  knitted  brow  to  what  followed. 

"As  I  have  already  told  thee,"  began  Lord  Monteagle, 
"I  suspected  that  it  was  she  who  had  ensnared  thee.  I 
set  inquiries  afoot,  and  in  justice  to  the  girl,  with  a  two- 
fold object — first,  to  establish  her  innocence,  if  she  were 
true;  secondly,  to  save  thy  name  and  happiness,  if  she 
proved  guilty.  But,"  he  went  on,  advancing  toward  his 
son  and  laying  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "the  second 
object  of  my  quest  was  the  one  fulfilled.  The  proof  came 
by  the  hand  of  God.  Yesternight,  leaving  the  house  of 
Lord  Brighton,  where  I  had  dined,  and  wishing  to  return 
with  all  speed,  I  requested  the  bearers  of  my  chair  to 
take  the  shortest  way  home.  Gazing  out  of  the  window, 
I  noted  that  we  were  in  the  locality  of  the  house  wherein 
she  (who  had  for  the  past  few  days  most  unhappily  filled 
my  mind)  was  reported  to  reside,  and  desiring  to  look 
upon  the  spot,  commanded  my  men  to  rest  there.  Sud- 
denly I  descried  a  man  muffled  in  a  cloak,  proceeding 
up  the  street,  who,  as  he  approached,  proved  to  my  aston- 


THE  VISCOUNT  EFFINGSTON.  67 

ishment  to  be  none  other  than  Sir  Thomas  Winter. 
Quickly  he  ascended  the  steps  and  knocked  at  the  house 
opposite  the  place  where  I  chanced  to  be.  After  a  mo- 
ment the  door  opened  and  the  figure  of  a  girl  stood  on 
the  threshold.  Beholding  her,  Winter  exclaimed:  'A 
good  evening  to  thee,  Mistress  Fawkes,'  the  rest  of  the 
greeting  being  lost  to  me  as  the  door  closed.  I  was  as- 
tonished at  having  so  quickly  set  before  me  the  two 
whose  names  had  been  in  my  mind.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments the  door  again  opened  suddenly,  this  time  I  think 
by  accident,  revealing  the  figure  of  him  who  had  just 
entered,  still  clad  in  his  cloak,  clasping  in  his  arms  and 
kissing  the  woman  who  admitted  him.  I  could  not  hear 
what  passed,  for  at  the  time  the  wind  blew  high,  drown- 
ing their  voices.  But  I  had  seen  enough,  and  cried  to  the 
bearers  to  take  up  the  chair  and  proceed.  That,  my  son, 
is  what  I  have  seen,  not  learned  by  mere  hearsay.  Would 
that  I  could  have  spared  thee  the  telling,  but  'tis  for  thy 
welfare  I  have  narrated  it." 

Effingston,  during  the  narrative,  had  remained  mo- 
tionless, his  features  drawn  and  colorless.  Fully  realizing 
that  his  father  would  not  have  maliciously  manufactured 
this  evidence  against  the  girl,  his  mind  could  conceive 
no  extenuating  circumstance  to  clear  it  away.  That  she 
had  deceived  him  was  not  beyond  the  consent  of  reason. 
He  was  a  man  of  the  world  and  of  the  time,  well  aware 
of  possible  duplicity,  and  further,  that  the  age  offered 
numerous  examples  of  women  with  one  hand  on  the 
cradle  while  the  other  guided  an  axe  toward  some  head 
which  for  a  cause  must  fall,  or  fanatically  sacrificing  all, 
even  honor,  to  gain  the  coveted  support  of  a  courtier  in 
some  undertaking.  The  scandal  which  had  been  breathed 
about  her,  to  do  him  justice,  he  did  not  give  ear  to,  be- 


68  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

lieving  implicitly  the  story  told  by  Elinor,  explaining  her 
associations  with  Winter.  But  was  not  this  man  a  cham- 
pion of  the  cause  which  foe  had  helped  to  defeat?  Was 
it  impossible  that  she  had  played  her  lover  as  a  dupe  to 
further  a  scheme?  This  was  entirely  plausible,  but  he 
could  not  bring  his  mind  to  believe  it.  And  why?  For 
the  same  old,  old  reason  which  has  cost  men  their  lives 
and  honor,  kings  their  crowns — because  he  loved  her. 
When  his  father  had  finished,  he  said,  in  a  quiet  voice, 
extending  his  hand: 

"I  thank  thee;  thy  motive  is  of  the  best;  and  I  most 
humbly  beg  thy  pardon  for  my  hasty  words,  prompted  by 
anger  only." 

"What  course  dost  thou  now  intend  to  pursue?"  in- 
quired Monteagle  uneasily,  for  the  quiet,  passionless 
manner  of  his  son  made  him  apprehensive. 

"What  thou  or  any  other  man  would  do — give  the 
woman  a  chance  to  defend  herself." 

"Aye,  I  thought  as  much,"  the  other  replied  with  an 
air  of  angered  impatience.  "She  will,  with  her  arms  about 
thy  neck,  explain  fast  enough,  and  to  thy  satisfaction." 

"Dost  thou  forget,"  the  son  inquired,  "that  I  am  a 
Monteagle,  and  have  implanted  in  m.e  that  pride  and  tem- 
per which  can  illy  condone,  even  in  those  they  love, 
deceit  and  falsity?  Have  no  fears  for  me,"  he  added, 
advancing  with  a  determined  step  toward  the  door. 

"Where  art  thou  going,  my  son?"  asked  the  other  in 
an  alarmed  tone. 

"To  face  this  woman  with  the  accusations  thou  hast 
just  uttered  against  her." 

"Stay;  go  not  in  thine  anger,  for  some  mischief  may 
be  wrought.  Wait  until  thy  temper  cools;  see  her  not 
again,  but  write." 


THE  VISCOUNT  EFFINGSTON.  69 

"I  am  not  a  killer  of  unarmed  adversaries,"  retorted 
Effingston;  "again,  I  repeat,  have  no  fear  for  me." 

"Well,  well;  God's  will  be  done;  it  may  be  for  the 
best,"  the  other  said  with  a  sigh,  turning  away  his  head. 

The  son  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then  quickly  kneeling 
before  his  father  and  taking  his  hand,  exclaimed:  "I 
humbly  ask  thee  to  forget  my  hot  words,  and  again  I 
crave  thy  pardon  for  the  same.  They  were  spoken  in 
wrath,  on  hearing  the  image  of  my  love  fall  crashing  to 
the  earth." 

Then  springing  to  his  feet,  before  Monteagle  had  op- 
portunity to  reply,  he  hurriedly  left  the  room. 

Once  on  the  street,  Effingston  strode  without  pause  in 
the  direction  of  Elinor's  house.  What  ,a  difference  in 
his  feelings  now,  contrasted  with  what  they  had  been 
when  he  had  traversed  that  way  before.  He  had  outlined 
his  course  of  action, — to  simply  tell  her  what  his  father 
had  seen,  and  demand  an  explanation.  If  she  were 
guilty,  even  his  love  and  her  woman's  wit  could  not,  he 
thought,  hide  the  fact  from  his  eyes;  and  if  it  all  were 
true  and  he  had  been  duped,  what  then? 

He  prayed  that  pride  would  come  to  his  aid  and  steel 
his  nerves,  and  prompt  his  tongue  to  speak.  With  these 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  and  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 
left,  he  hurried  on  his  way  to  her  dwelling.  How  changed 
each  familiar  object  seemed  to  him.  As  he  knocked  at  the 
door  and  listened,  a  footstep  sounded  in  the  hall.  Ah,  how 
many  times  had  his  heart  leaped  at  the  same  sound.  The 
door  opened,  and  she  who  was  all  the  world  to  him  stood 
on  the  threshold; — she  whom  he  must  soon  accuse  of 
hideous  duplicity.  How  very  beautiful  she  looked.  On 
seeing  Effingston,  Elinor  uttered  a  low,  startled  cry.  He 
noted  the  action,  for  love,  when  coupled  with  suspicion 


70  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

(and  the  two  can  live  together)  is  not  blind,  but  terribly 
vigilant. 

"Elinor,  I  must  speak  with  thee,  and  alone,"  he  ex- 
claimed. , 

The  girl  regarded  him  with  a  half  frightened  look.  She 
had  been  all  day  engaged  in  a  bitter  fight  with  self,  and 
knew  not  how  to  tell  him  they  must  part  forever.  Now 
he  stood  before  her.  She  realized  to  some  extent  what 
the  agony  of  the  separation  which  must  soon  come  would 
be  to  her,  and  knowing  full  well  the  depth  of  his  love, 
measured  his  sufferings  by  her  own.  Wild  thoughts 
had  passed  through  her  mind  of  doing  something  which 
would  turn  that  love  to  hate,  and  she  felt  she  could  better 
bear  that  than  know  he  lived  and  suffered.  But  now  as 
she  looked  upon  him  both  will  and  fortitude  fast  weak- 
ened. Again  she  was  the  simple  loving  woman. 

"Wilt  thou  enter?"  she  asked  in  a  constrained  voice, 
scarce  knowing  what  she  said. 

He  crossed  the  threshold  and  passed  into  the  little 
room  which  held  for  him  the  most  tender  recollections. 

"Elinor,  I  have  come "  he  began;  then,  gazing  at 

the  beautiful  face  before  him,  he  advanced  toward  her 
with  outstretched  arms — all  resolution  gone;  "O  my 
darling,  I  have  wronged  thee — thou  canst  tell,  I  know, 
and  explain  all." 

She  shrank  from  his  touch,  fearing  lest  her  little  firm- 
ness should  take  flight. 

"Why  dost  thou  shrink  from  me?-"  cried  he,  swept  by 
a  sudden  fear  which  made  his  lips  dry  and  his  cheeks 
burn.  "O  my  God,  can  it  then  be  thou  dost  know  the 
purport  of  my  question?" 

"I  know  not  what  thou  meanest,"  she  stammered,  as- 


THE   VISCOUNT    EFFINGSTON.  71 

tonished  at  his  words,  even  amidst  her  sufferings ;  "if  thou 
hast  aught  to  ask,  pray  say  on." 

He  watched  the  trembling  figure  for  a  moment,  inter- 
preting her  emotion  as  detected  guilt,  and  the  demon  of 
jealousy,  which,  strange  to  say,  is  often  led  forth  by  love, 
burst  out,  prompting  him  to  speak  words  which  after 
uttering,  he  would  have  given  worlds  to  unsay. 

"Then,  know,"  he  cried,  "that  I  have  discovered  thy 
methods,  and  that  I  have  been  duped  and  dragged  on  to 
further  some  hellish  scheme  of  thine  and  his.  I've  swal- 
lowed thy  pretty  words  and  thought  them  sweet.  Now 
I  know  all;  'twas  but  last  night  thou  wert  in  his  arms, 
and  rightly  thou  belongest  there ;  the  report  is  true,  thou 
art  none  other  than  the  mistress  of  Sir  Thomas  Winter. 
Aye,  tremble  in  thy  guilt,  thou  Magdalene;  thou  canst 
not  deny  it." 

As  he  uttered  the  accusation,  she  raised  her  arm  as  if 
to  ward  off  some  sudden  blow,  then  let  it  fall  at  her  side, 
standing  speechless,  benumbed  and  horrified  at  the  ter- 
rible words  he  had  hurled  at  her.  The  disgrace  and  the 
infamy  of  them  she  did  not  at  once  grasp,  but  gradually 
her  mind  began  to  comprehend  all  that  he  had  said.  The 
room  swam  about  her,  and  she  caught  at  a  chair  for  sup- 
port, vainly  trying  to  make  some  reply.  Again  he  re- 
peated: "Thou  canst  not  deny  it;  guilt  is  written  in  thine 
every  action." 

As  she  aroused  herself  there  flashed  upon  her  mind 
the  act  of  two  short  days  ago,  when  she  had  fallen  upon 
her  knees  and  prayed  God  that  this  man  before  her  might 
be  spared  the  cruel  pangs  of  that  separation  which  must 
inevitably  come.  And  had  not  that  prayer  been  an- 
swered? Had  not  he  just  uttered  accusations,  which,  if 
not  denied,  would  end  his  love  for  her — now  and  forever? 


72  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

Believing  her  to  be  vile  and  infamous,  pride  and  man- 
hood would  soon  come  to  his  aid.  But  what  did  the 
acknowledgment  mean  to  her?  His  utter  contempt;  he 
would  always  believe  that  he  had  been  her  dupe — hers, 
who  would  gladly  give  her  very  life  for  him.  But  what 
mattered  it?  Thinking  this  to  be  true,  he  will  soon,  man- 
like, dismiss  her  from  his  thoughts,  and  give  his  love  to 
another,  who,  pray  God,  may  make  his  life  all  happiness 
and  gladness.  She  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  wall  on 
which  hung  the  image  of  Christ  nailed  to  a  cross.  Could 
she  not  crucify  herself,  for  this  love  of  hers?  Slowly  the 
resolution  formed.  Again  he  repeated:  "Canst  thou 
deny  it?"  And  she  answered:  "Thou  say est  it!" 

"It  is  true?"  he  cried. 

Again  she  answered:  "Thou  sayest  it." 

"O  great  God,"  he  exclaimed,  putting  his  hands  to  his 
head,  "can  this  be  real?  Can  this  be  the  end  of  all  our 
hopes?  Is  the  world  so  bad  and  woman  so  low?" 

She  uttered  not  a  word,  but  stood  motionless. 

"Vile  deceiver!"  he  cried,  turning  to  her  as  he  stag- 
gered toward  the  door,  "if  it  be  happiness  to  know  that 
thine  infamy  hath  ruined  my  life,  know  it,  then,  and  be 
glad." 

She  heard  the  portal  close.  He  had  gone  from  her  for- 
ever. Then  the  full  and  terrible  import  of  that  which  she 
had  acknowledged  herself  to  be  overwhelmed  her,  and 
with  a  cry  she  fell  unconscious  to  the  floor. 


IN    THE    GARDEN.  73 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  THE   GARDEN   OF  THE   GENTLEMAN- 
PENSIONER. 

Upon  reaching  the  open  air,  Effingston  paused  for  a 
moment  that  the  shock  occasioned  by  the  admission  of 
Elinor  might  in  some  degree  pass  from  him.  He  had 
gone  to  her  prepared  for  tears,  protests  and  womanly 
anger,  and  despite  the  suspicion  which  had  seized  his 
heart,  it  had  not  been  in  his  nature  to  believe  the  words  of 
his  father  would  so  soon  find  confirmation.  He  felt, 
indeed,  as  one  about  to  lay  his  head  upon  the  block, — that 
he  must  cry  out,  yet  his  heart  was  clutched  as  by  a  giant 
hand,  benumbing  all  his  faculties  so  that  pain  and  leth- 
argy paralyzed  his  will. 

As  he  groped  half  blindly  for  the  railing  which  flanked 
the  narrow  steps,  the  figure  of  a  man  confronted  him, 
who,  as  he  perceived  the  Viscount  Effingston  standing 
upon  the  threshold  of  Mistress  Fawke's  dwelling,  drew 
back  quickly,  his  face  dark  with  anger.  'Twas  Sir  Thomas 
Winter. 

In  that  instant  all  the  calmness  of  the  young  nobleman 
returned  to  him.  The  sight  of  Winter,  in  whom  he  saw  the 
bitter  enemy  of  his  house,  and  whom  he  now  hated  for 
a  double  reason,  turned  his  pain  into  contempt  for  her 
who  had  so  illy  used  him.  Pride  came  to  his  aid,  and  he 
would  have  passed  the  other  haughtily ;  but  it  was  in  no 
wise  the  purpose  of  Sir  Thomas  that  the  meeting  should 
have  so  peaceful  an  ending. 

Rumor  had  reached  him  that  the  Viscount  Effingston 
e 


74  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

was  too  frequent  a  visitor  at  the  house  of  one  for  whom  he 
fostered,  if  not  love,  at  least  a  fierce  passion,  and  the 
presence  of  his  rival,  at  the  very  door  of  the  humble 
dwelling,  aroused  him  to  fury.  With  an  angry  frown  dis- 
torting his  features  he  advanced  toward  the  spot  where 
stood  the  Viscount,  who,  perceiving  he  had  to  deal  with 
one  in  whom  temper  had  overcome  prudence,  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  hilt  of  his  rapier.  It  was  not  the  purpose 
of  Winter,  however,  to  come  to  blows  thus  openly  with 
one  who  was  known  to  be  in  favor  with  the  King.  He 
therefore  contented  himself  with  obstructing  the  way  in 
so  insolent  a  manner,  and  with  such  malice  in  his  eyes, 
that  it  sent  the  blood  to  the  cheeks  of  Effingston,  and  he 
returned  the  gaze  unflinchingly,  saying  quietly: 

"Come,  if  Sir  Thomas  Winter  hath  in  mind  aught  to 
say  to  me,  let  it  be  done  quickly,  that  I  may  go  upon  my 
way."  At  the  same  time  he  moved  as  though  to  pass. 

"Nay!  My  Lord  of  Effingston!"  replied  Winter  turning 
his  eyes  upon  the  hand  which  rested  on  the  jeweled 
sword  hilt.  "Fear  not  that  in  a  street  of  London  I  would 
draw  sword  against  thee,  traitor  though  thou  art.  Thy 
royal  master " 

"Traitor!"  cried  Effingston,  the  red  of  his  cheeks 
changing  to  the  paleness  of  anger.  "Traitor,  sayest  thou, 
Sir  Winter?" 

"Aye!"  replied  Winter.    "All  London  knoweth." 

The  Viscount  controlled  himself  by  an  effort. 

"Thy  purpose  is  clear  to  me/'  said  he  coldly,  "thou 
wouldst  force  a  quarrel;  so  be  it.  Traitor,  sayest  thou? 
Perchance,  thy  mirror  hath  shown  one  to  thee  so  fre- 
quently that  the  word  is  ever  on  thy  tongue." 

"As  to  mirrors,"  replied  Winter,  "those  in  the  King's 
chamber  have  revealed  to  thee  their  ways,  then.  Think- 


IN    THE    GARDEN.  75 

est  thoti  nothing  is  known  concerning  the  purpose  of  my 
Lord  Monteagle  in  instructing  thee  as  to  Puritanism." 

Effingston  bit  his  lip.  "  Tis  befitting  thy  manhood,  Sir 
Winter,  having  bribed  a  dastardly  servant  to  give  false 
testimony  of  what  was  listened  to  from  behind  a  curtain, 
that  thou  shouldst  insult  one  whose  cloak  buckle  thou 
art  unworthy  to  loosen.  'Twas  a  fair  representation  of 
thy  character,  a  good  showing  of  thy  principles.  If  it  be 
in  thy  mind  to  prate  further,  get  thee  into  the  market 
place,  where,  mounted  upon  an  ass,  thou  mayst  draw 
around  thee  certain  of  the  populace  whose  wont  it  is  to 
gather  for  such  discourse." 

This  was  spoken  with  a  mock  gallantry  which  the  Vis- 
count could  well  assume,  and  deprived  the  other  for  a 
moment  of  utterance.  Overcome  by  anger,  and  surprised 
that  the  insults  heaped  upon  the  Viscount  were  met  with 
contempt,  he  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to  bring  the  name 
of  Mistress  Fawkes  into  the  quarrel. 

"Thou  dost  but  jest  with  me,"  he  cried,  taking  a  step 
nearer  his  rival ;  "perchance,  having  come  from  the  arms 
of  thy  mistress,  thy  wits  are  so  dulled  that " 

The  reply  of  Effingston  was  sudden  and  unexpected. 
Resolved  to  avoid  an  open  quarrel  with  one  whom  he 
considered  beneath  him,  he  had  sought  to  return  words, 
only,  to  the  other's  insults,  but  the  reference  to  one  whom 
he  had  held  most  dear,  fired  his  brain.  Scarce  had  Win- 
ter uttered  the  base  accusation  when  the  young  noble- 
man snatched  off  his  heavy  gauntlet  and  with  it  struck 
him  across  the  face;  so  great  was  the  force  of  the  blow 
that  the  other  staggered,  lost  his  footing  on  the  slippery 
street,  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  his  enemy. 

Having  thus  given  expression  to  his  anger,  Effingston 
I 


76  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

calmly  replaced  the  glove,  and  with  hand  upon  hilt, 
awaited  the  arising  of  his  companion. 

Stunned  for  the  moment  by  so  sturdy  a  buffet,  Winter 
remained  motionless  for  a  little  space,  but  soon  regained 
his  feet,  and,  with  garments  soiled  and  earth  stained,  with 
blood  upon  his  face,  drew  his  sword  and  made  as  though 
he  would  thrust  the  Viscount  through. 

Effingston  drew  also,  and  more  serious  results  would 
have  followed  had  not  one  in  the  crowd  which  had  gath- 
ered to  watch  the  ending  of  the  quarrel,  cried  that  the 
King's  soldiers  were  approaching. 

Sobered  by  the  danger  which  threatened  him,  for  the 
arrest  of  a  Catholic  with  sword  in  hand  was  like  to  bring 
evil  consequence,  Winter  made  haste  to  sheathe  his  blade, 
which  example  the  Viscount  quickly  followed.  However, 
it  was  a  false  alarm,  and  raised  only  for  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  two  fine  gentlemen  thrown  into  confusion.  The 
crowd,  catching  the  spirit  of  the  varlet,  straightway  raised 
a  tumult,  showering  the  nobles  with  sundry  jibes  and 
insulting  remarks,  considering  it  rare  sport  to  have  at 
their  mercy  those  of  high  degree. 

The  commotion  turned  for  a  moment  the  mind  of  Win- 
ter from  his  first  grievance,  and  he  bethought  himself  of 
the  sorry  figure  he  must  show  with  dress  awry,  face  soiled 
and  blood-stained,  and,  worse  than  all,  insulted  dignity. 
Therefore  he  made  haste  to  leave  a  company  so  unap- 
preciative,  and  destitute  of  sympathy.  To  Effingston, 
the  thought  that  against  his  better  judgment  he  had  been 
drawn  into  a  public  brawl,  caused  his  face  to  glow  with 
passion,  and  his  desire  to  leave  the  locality  was  not  less 
than  that  of  the  other.  The  lookers  on,  finding  their  sport 
ended,  did  not  follow,  but  took  themselves  to  other  ways, 
and  the  two  gentlemen,  who  had  hurried  blindly,  with- 
out attention  or  knowledge  as  to  direction,  soon  found 


IN    THE    GARDEN.  77 

themselves  in  a  quiet  street  somewhat  remote  from  the 
neighborhood  which  had  witnessed  Sir  Thomas  Winter's 
discomfiture. 

"My  Lord  of  Effingston!"  cried  he,  as  he  gathered  to- 
gether his  disturbed  senses,  noting  the  presence  of  his 
companion.  "Thou  hast  grievously  insulted  me,  there- 
fore  " 

"When  thou  wilt!"  the  Viscount  interrupted.  "My 
sword  is  ever  at  thy  service." 

"  Tis  well!"  said  Winter,  drawing  his  cloak  about  him; 
"one  hour  from  now  in  the  garden  of  Thomas  Percy, 
whom,  methinks,  is  known  to  thee.  Yet  if  thou  dost 
fear " 

Effingston  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "In  Sir  Percy's 
garden,"  repeated  he  haughtily,  and  turning  upon  his 
heel  left  Sir  Thomas  in  the  roadway. 

The  garden  of  the  official  dwelling  occupied  by  the 
Gentleman-Pensioner  consisted  of  perhaps  a  quarter  of 
an  acre  of  sward,  fringed  by  a  sorry  row  of  leafless  trees, 
and  surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  beyond  the  top  of  which 
shone  the  metal  gables  of  half  a  score  of  straight-backed 
dwellings.  'Twas  no  uncommon  thing  for  the  parties  to 
a  dispute  to  settle  the  same  by  force  of  arms,  but  they 
carried  on  the  affair  with  all  secrecy,  lest  the  report 
thereof  reach  the  ears  of  those  in  authority,  as  it  was  con- 
trary to  the  King's  wish  that  a  private  quarrel  should  end 
in  the  killing  of  an  English  gentleman.  Such  being  the 
fact,  those  gardens  which  adjoined  the  houses  of  certain 
nobles,  and  by  reason  of  their  privacy  precluded  the  pres- 
ence of  prying  eyes,  were  oft  turned  into  duelling  grounds, 
and  the  square  of  sward  flanking  the  dwelling  of  Thomas 
Percy  was  well  adapted  for  a  contest  in  which  the  even- 
ness of  the  ground,  as  well  as  others  matters,  was  of  much 
consequence  to  the  combatants. 


78  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

To  this  garden  the  Viscount  Effingston,  accompanied 
by  Sir  Francis  Tillinghurst  and  another,  who  bore  be- 
neath his  cloak  a  case  of  instruments,  presented  himself 
at  the  hour  appointed  for  his  meeting  with  Sir  Thomas 
Winter.  Having  gained  admittance  by  a  gate  set  in  the 
wall,  the  three  found  awaiting  them,  Sir  Thomas,  my 
Lord  of  Rookwood,  the  Gentleman-Pensioner  and  a  sur- 
geon summoned  by  the  latter  to  look  to  the  welfare  of  the 
challenger. 

As  the  gate  clicked  behind  the  Viscount  and  his  com- 
panions, Lord  Rookwood,  who  was  in  close  converse 
with  the  others  at  the  further  side  of  the  garden,  advanced 
haughtily,  bowing  to  Sir  Francis,  whom  he  perceived 
represented  the  interests  of  the  young  nobleman.  The 
two,  withdrawing  from  the  others,  made  haste  to  arrange 
the  preliminaries  of  the  meeting. 

"Thy  promptness  is  most  commendable,"  said  Rook- 
wood, casting  a  look  upward  at  the  cold  gray  of  the  sky, 
"and  'twere  well  that  our  principals  do  quickly  that  which 
has  brought  them  hither.  Methinks  a  storm  is  brewing, 
and  a  fall  of  snow  might  end  the  matter  illy." 

A  few  white  flakes  upon  his  doublet  bore  witness  to  the 
correctness  of  his  prophecy.  Sir  Francis  bowed  assent. 

"Thou  canst  perceive,"  continued  Rookwood,  pointing 
to  the  strip  of  sward,  "that  good  Thomas  Percy  has  had 
a  care  to  have  no  element  of  fairness  lacking.  Hast  any 
objection  to  the  spot  chosen?" 

"I  can  see  no  catch  or  fault  in  it,"  replied  Tillinghurst, 
casting  his  eyes  over  the  ground,  "the  light  is  good,  and 
there  seemeth  to  be  no  advantage  in  position." 

'  Tis  well*"  said  Rookwood,  "wilt  measure  swords 
that  the  contest  be  in  all  fairness?" 

Tillinghurst  complied,  and  the  principals,  casting  aside 


IN    THE    GARDEN.  79 

their  cloaks,  stepped  forward  to  the  strip  of  sward  pre- 
pared for  them. 

The  demeanor  of  the  Viscount  was  serious;  he  well 
knew  that  in  Sir  Thomas  Winter  he  had  no  unskilled 
swordsman,  but  a  man  of  much  experience,  with  wrist  of 
steel,  and  a  trick  of  fence  acquired  by  long  practice  in 
foreign  service.  The  face  of  Winter  was  darkened  by  a 
frown  in  which  was  blended  a  shadow  of  anxiety.  The 
Lord  of  Monteagle  was  a  famous  swordsman,  and  it 
might  well  be  that  the  son  had  learned  from  a  good  mas- 
ter. 

"Gentlemen,  are  you  ready?"  cried  Rookwood  drawing 
his  rapier,  as  also  did  Sir  Francis,  that  they  might  inter- 
fere should  need  arise. 

The  principals  saluted,  stood  at  guard,  and  awaited  the 
signal;  when  it  was  given,  their  blades  crossed  with  a 
clash  which  rang  out  sharp  and  clear  on  the  cold  winter 
air. 

The  hate  and  jealousy  with  which  Winter  regarded  his 
young  rival  were  intensified  by  the  tingling  blow  dealt 
him  an  hour  before,  and  from  which  he  still  suffered, — 
and  as  he  was  confident  beyond  doubt  of  his  skill  as  a 
swordsman,  he  attacked  with  a  fury  which  pressed  his 
younger  adversary  back  toward  the  wall,  and  those  wit- 
nessing the  contest  thought  to  see  Effingston  speedily 
thrust  through. 

The  Viscount  was,  however,  too  adroit  a  fencer  to 
yield  readily  to  such  a  fate.  Careful,  at  first,  only  to  de- 
fend himself,  he  met  each  thrust  and  pass  with  a  parry 
which  deepened  the  frown  on  Winter's  brow,  and  having 
retreated  to  the  edge  of  the  duelling  ground,  he  there 
held  his  position  despite  the  fierceness  of  the  onslaught. 

Suddenly  Winter's  blade  darted  serpent-like  beneath 


80  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

the  guard  of  his  adversary.  A  red  stain  appeared  on 
Effingston's  shoulder,  and  the  seconds  interposed  their 
swords. 

The  Viscount  waved  them  back,  as  also  he  did  the 
surgeon,  who  hastened  to  perform  his  office. 

"  Tis  a  touch  only,"  said  he  hoarsely,  breathing  heav- 
ily, "on  guard,  sir,  that  we  may  finish  quickly." 

And  now  their  positions  were  reversed.  Instead  of  act- 
ing on  the  defensive,  Effingston  in  turn  became  the  assail- 
ant, regaining  his  lost  ground,  and  forcing  Sir  Thomas 
back,  step  by  step. 

Maddened  at  thus  losing  vantage  ground  Winter's 
calmness  failed  him;  he  made  a  sudden  thrust  forward, 
and  it  being  parried,  lost  his  footing,  the  blade  of  his 
rapier  ringing  against  the  hilt  of  the  other  ere  he  could 
regain  guard. 

A  cry  arose  to  the  lips  of  Rookwood,  for  he  thought 
the  other  would  show  no  mercy;  but  before  he  could 
utter  a  sound,  Effingston,  with  a  quick  turn  of  the  wrist, 
sent  the  opposing  sword  ringing  to  the  ground,  leaving 
his  enemy  weaponless  before  him. 

For  an  instant  Winter  recoiled  as  if  in  fear  of  the  thrust 
which  he  was  now  powerless  to  avert.  A  scornful  smile 
passed  over  the  pale  features  of  the  victor. 

"  'Tis  thus  I  would  deal  with  such  as  thou,"  said  he 
haughtily,  and,  pushing  his  sword  into  its  scabbard,  he 
took  up  Sir  Thomas'  rapier,  and  breaking  it  across  his 
knee,  tossed  the  pieces  contemptuously  aside. 

"Come!"  said  he  as  his  second  threw  a  cloak  about  him. 
"Our  matters  are  ended."  Then  saluting  with  grave 
courtesy  the  four  Catholic  gentlemen,  he  left  the  garden, 
followed  by  his  companions. 


GARNET    AND    THE    KING.  8l 


CHAPTER  IX. 
GARNET    AND    THE    KING. 

Toward  the  decline  of  the  tenth  day  following  the  meet- 
ing of  Viscount  Effingston  and  Sir  Thomas  Winter  in 
the  garden  of  the  Gentleman-Pensioner,  four  men  might 
have  been  seen  riding  through  one  of  the  stretches  of 
woodland  used  by  the  King  as  a  hunting  ground  and 
known  as  the  forest  of  Waltham.  Although  light  still  lin- 
gered, a  gloom  was  gathering  over  the  countryside,  and 
within  the  precincts  of  the  forest  the  first  shades  of  even- 
ing warned  the  horsemen  that  ere  many  hours  the  cheer- 
less twilight  which  prevailed  in  England  at  that  period 
of  the  year,  would  find  them  outside  the  gates  of  London. 

Of  the  four,  three  were  gentlemen;  the  other  seemed 
to  be  more  a  soldier  than  a  cavalier.  The  trappings  of 
his  horse  were  less  rich  than  those  of  his  companions,  the 
texture  of  his  cloak  was  of  poorer  quality,  and  he  be- 
strode the  saddle  after  the  manner  of  one  inured  to  rough 
riding,  when  business  took  precedence  of  pleasure,  a 
custom  not  commonly  followed  among  the  gentry  of  the 
kingdom.  His  companions  were  so  muffled  in  their 
cloaks  as  to  hide  both  dress  and  features.  Each  wore  at 
his  side  a  long  rapier,  and  from  their  holsters  appeared 
the  metal-marked  butts  of  pistols,  ready  to  hand  should 
sudden  danger  assail  them. 

After  passing  through  the  outskirts  of  the  forest  bor- 
dering on  the  north,  the  horses  were  urged  into  a  gallop, 
the  sharp  ring  of  their  hoofs  on  the  frost-hardened  road 
echoing  dully  among  the  trees  on  either  side.  As  they 


82  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

entered  the  thickest  part  of  the  wood,  one,  riding  in  the 
rear,  turned  to  his  companion. 

"Thou  seest,"  said  he,  pointing  with  his  whip  toward 
the  forest  on  the  left,  "that  our  lord,  the  King,  hath  re- 
served for  his  own  pleasure  a  goodly  bit  of  woodland 
within  which  none  may  venture  with  hounds  or  hunting 
horns." 

"Such  a  rumor  hath  come  to  me/'  replied  the  other, 
"also  that  any  venturing  within  the  royal  chase  will  be 
dealt  with  most  vigorously." 

His  companion  laughed  harshly.  "Of  that,"  said  he, 
"I  was  myself  a  witness,  for  'twas  but  ten  days  back  when 
one  Charles  Burrows,  a  most  worthy  commoner,  and  a 
staunch  Catholic,  was  brought  before  the  magistrates  for 
having  shot  a  hare  which  crossed  his  path." 

"I'faith!"  muttered  the  other,  "  Tis  then  the  purpose 
of  the  King  to  carry  his  oppression  even  beyond  our 
altars.  It  seemeth  to  me  a  most  fitting  thing,  Sir  Thomas, 
that  the  kingdom  be  rid  of  such  a  tyrant." 

"Bravely  spoken,  Master  Fawkes/'  replied  Winter, 
"and  thou  wilt  be  ready  should  occasion  arise,  to  protest 
against  our  wrongs!  But  what  now  is  the  trouble  with 
worthy  Catesby,  and  his  Reverence?" 

The  exclamation  was  called  forth  by  the  action  of  the 
two  horsemen  who  were  leading  the  little  cavalcade. 
They  had  pulled  up  their  steeds  and  appeared  to  be 
listening  intently,  though  to  the  ears  of  their  companions, 
who  had  dropped  some  ten  score  paces  behind,  no  sound 
save  the  moaning  of  the  wind  could  be  heard.  But  as 
they  also  drew  rein,  and  the  click  of  their  horses'  hoofs 
ceased,  the  faint  echo  of  a  horn  was  borne  through  the 
wintry  air. 

Drawing  together,  the  four  strained  their  ears  to  note 


GARNET    AND    THE    KING.  83 

the  direction  whence  it  came ;  across  the  face  of  one  rider 
stole  a  shadow  of  anxiety.  Sir  Thomas  Winter  noted  it. 

"I  warrant/'  said  he,  "that  none  is  abroad  who  will  in 
any  manner  trouble  us.  Tis  some  hunting  party  return- 
ing from  the  chase,  and  riding  toward  the  highway. 
What  thinkest  thou,  good  Catesby?" 

"Thou  mayst  have  conjectured  aright,"  replied 
Catesby;  "yet,  'twould  be  a  wise  precaution  to  remain 
silent,  if  any  seeking  to  know  our  business  did  beset  us. 
Mayhap  even  a  purple  cloak  and  doublet  would  scarce 
hide  from  them  that  the  Superior  of  the 

Garnet,  for  the  fourth  horseman  was  the  leader  of  the 
English  Jesuits,  raised  his  head  proudly. 

"A  truce,  gentlemen!"  said  he,  "'Tis  not  meet  that, 
having  ventured  forth  disguised,  I  play  the  coward  at  the 
simple  sounding  of  a  horn.  Let  us  ride  forward  as  befit- 
teth  four  peaceable  English  gentlemen.  The  King's 
highway  is  free  to  all  who  choose  to  pass  thereon,  even 
though  the  forest  bordering  it  be  reserved  for  those  who 
have  gained  the  smile  of  James." 

"And,"  said  Fawkes,  "  'tis  not  the  wont  of  a  hunting 
party  to  play  highwaymen,  the  less  so  that  the  King,  per- 
chance, rideth  with  it." 

"The  King!"  cried  Winter  and  Catesby,  in  a  breath. 

"Aye!"  replied  Fawkes  bluntly.  "Have  ye  not  told 
me  that  the  royal  wood  of  Waltham  is  reserved  for  the 
hunting  of  his  Majesty?" 

His  companions  exchanged  quick  glances.  "Then,  we 
had  best  hide  ourselves,"  cried  Winter,  "James  hath  a 
prying  disposition." 

"Methinks,"  said  Garnet,  raising  his  hand  to  enforce 
silence,  "that  but  one  horn  sounded.  If,  as  thou  sayest,  it 


84  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

be  a  hunting  party,  the  wood  would  echo  with  a  score  of 
blasts.  Shall  we  run  from  one  man?" 

Fawkes  loosened  his  sword  in  its  scabbard.  "I  have 
this,"  said  he,  "to  back  our  presence  in  the  forest,  and 
are  ye  weaponless?" 

The  bluff  words  of  the  soldier  of  fortune  put  to  shame 
the  fears  of  the  two  noblemen,  yet  they  hesitated.  Should 
they  be  suspected,  it  would  not  be  a  light  matter  to  evade 
certain  questions  which  might  be  asked,  and  if  taken  to 
London  captives,  the  disguise  of  the  Jesuit  would  be  pen- 
etrated. 

Meanwhile  the  sound  of  the  horn  grew  louder,  and 
while  wavering  in  their  decision,  a  voice,  faint  and  indis- 
tinct, was  heard  shouting  afar  off.  Fawkes  listened  atten- 
tively. 

"  Tis  a  cry  for  succor,"  said  he  suddenly,  "someone 
hath  lost  his  way  and  seeks  the  highroad." 

"Then,"  said  Garnet  calmly,  "we  will  remain,  for  he  is 
approaching." 

Perhaps  five  minutes  had  elapsed  when  the  blast  of 
the  horn  sounded  as  if  in  their  very  ears;  and  from  the 
forest,  only  a  dozen  rods  beyond  them,  dashed  a  man 
mounted  on  a  bay  horse.  Having  reached  the  open  road 
he  pulled  up  his  beast  and  looked  helplessly  in  an  oppo- 
site direction  from  the  four  riders.  Suddenly  Winter 
started  and  changed  color,  his  face  turning  from  red  to 
white,  and  back  to  red  again. 

"  'Tis  the  King!"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  clutching  the 
arm  of  Catesby,  who  sat  beside  him. 

It  was,  in  truth,  James  of  England,  unattended,  his 
dress  awry  and  torn  by  thorns  and  brambles,  with  blood- 
less lips  and  terror-stricken  countenance,  who  sat  help- 


GARNET    AND    THE    KING.  85 

lessly  in  the  saddle  in  the  presence  of  his  bitterest 
enemies. 

As  this  realization  dawned  on  Catesby's  mind,  he  ut- 
tered an  exclamation,  and  reached  for  the  pistol  which 
protruded  from  his  holster. 

"  Tis  the  judgment  of  God,"  he  muttered;  "to-night 
England  will  be  without  a  king." 

The  firm  grasp  of  the  Jesuit  upon  his  arm  checked  his 
murderous  purpose. 

"Stop!"  whispered  Garnet  sternly,  "wouldst  ruin  the 
cause  which  thou  hast  sworn  to  befriend?  Draw  your 
cloaks  about  your  faces  and  leave  the  King  to  me." 

Ere  they  could  recover  from  their  astonishment  he  had 
ridden  forward  to  the  spot  where  James  sat  bewildered, 
noting  not  the  presence  of  those  behind  him. 

At  the  sound  of  hoofs  he  turned  quickly,  laying  a  trem- 
bling hand  upon  the  hilt  of  a  hunting  knife  which  hung 
at  his  belt.  The  demeanor  of  the  approaching  stranger 
gave  him  courage.  Garnet  did  not  remove  from  his  head 
the  plumed  hat,  as  was  befitting  the  presence  of  royalty, 
but  there  was  in  his  face  a  kindliness  which  proclaimed 
his  errand  a  peaceful  one. 

"Good  sir,"  said  he,  speaking  in  French,  "thy  manner 
shows  some  bewilderment,  and,  may  be,  the  blasts  of  the 
horn  which  reached  me  were  tokens  of  it." 

James  trembled  violently,  for  at  heart  he  was  an  arrant 
coward,  and  the  being  met  by  a  stranger,  alone,  close  to 
nightfall  and  in  the  forest,  filled  him  with  the  greatest 
terror.  The  words  of  the  other  somewhat  reassured  him. 

"Brave  gentleman !"  cried  he,  still  grasping  the  handle 
of  the  knife,  "thou  art  a  man  of  honor,  and  by  thy  speech 
a  Frenchman,  therefore  thou  wilt  aid  me." 


86  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"Thou  hast  spoken  truly,"  replied  the  Jesuit.  "Hast 
lost  thy  way?" 

Relieved  of  apprehension  for  his  personal  safety,  the 
King  gave  vent  to  his  ill  temper. 

"That  I  have,"  cried  he,  striking  his  knee  angrily,  "and 
in  the  King's  own  forest.  There  are  those  who  shall  pay 
dearly,  who  shall  rue  this  hour,"  he  continued  passion- 
ately. "  'Twas  a  plot  to  humiliate  me." 

"Good  sir,"  replied  Garnet,  noting  that  James  pro- 
posed to  conceal  his  identity.  "Of  whom  speakest  thou?" 

"Of  the  rogues  who  accompanied  me  hither,"  stormed 
the  son  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots;  "I  followed  a  stag,  and 
having  outridden  them  they  have  thus  deserted  me;  'tis 
a  thing  beyond  human  comprehension." 

"And  this,"  thought  Garnet,  "this  is  the  King  of  Eng- 
land, who  has  pulled  down  our  altars,  driven  out  our  re- 
ligion and  banished  us."  Despite  all  efforts  his  brow 
darkened. 

But  the  ill  temper  of  James  subsided  as  quickly  as  it 
had  arisen,  leaving  him  for  the  time  only  a  man  who 
sought  succor,  and  so  made  known  his  condition. 

It  chanced  that  riding  in  the  forest,  taking  the  lead  of 
those  who  accompanied  him,  he  followed  the  tracks  of  a 
stag  and  became  separated  from  his  companions;  where- 
upon, being  confused  and  terrified,  he  soon  lost  his  way. 

Garnet  listened  patiently,  and  made  no  sign  that  could 
lead  the  King  to  suspect  that  his  personality  was  known, 
then  pointed  to  his  companions,  who  were  sitting  mo- 
tionless upon  their  horses,  with  muffled  faces,  awaiting 
the  result  of  the  Jesuit's  unexpected  action. 

"Good  sir,"  said  he,  "it  will  give  me  pleasure  to  con- 
duct thee  to*  the  outskirts  of  the  forest,  after  which,  the 
road  being  plain,  thou  canst  easily  find  thy  way  to  the 


GARNET    AND    THE    KING.  87 

gates  of  London.  Yonder  servants  of  mine  will  ride  be- 
hind us." 

James  gladly  accepted  the  other's  offer,  nor  did  it 
please  him  that  the  supposed  Frenchman  should  learn 
he  was  assisting  the  sovereign  of  England.  Pride  and 
distrust  governed  him.  Pride,  lest  a  foreigner  should  bear 
away  the  tale  of  a  king's  discomfiture;  distrust,  lest,  hold- 
ing in  his  power  so  important  a  personage,  the  stranger 
might  take  advantage  thereof  for  his  own  benefit.  But 
it  was  not  in  the  mind  of  Garnet  to  reveal  his  knowledge ; 
so,  side  by  side  they  rode  in  silence — the  Jesuit  and  the 
King — for  the  space  of  an  hour,  until,  upon  reaching  the 
vicinity  of  London,  whose  lights  twinkled  in  the  distance, 
they  separated,  James  galloping  madly  on,  his  companion 
awaiting  the  approach  of  Winter,  Fawkes  and  Catesby. 

There  was  much  amazement  and  some  anger  in  the 
minds  of  the  two  noblemen,  that  the  priest  had  acted  in 
so  unaccountable  a  manner.  Desirous  of  learning  his 
motive  for  befriending  one  whom  he  professed  to  hate, 
they  questioned  him  upon  the  subject.  To  all,  Garnet 
replied  briefly,  bidding  them  wait  a  more  befitting  time, 
as  it  was  his  purpose,  on  reaching  London  to  attend  a 
meeting  at  the  house  of  Sir  Thomas  Percy.  Therefore 
they  rode  on  in  silence,  the  great  clock  in  the  tower  of 
St.  Paul's  chiming  the  hour  of  eight  as  they  passed  into 
the  city. 

At  the  corner  of  the  street  leading  to  the  Gentleman- 
Pensioner's  door  a  horseman  confronted  them  whom 
they  recognized  as  Percy  himself.  He  had  been  waiting 
for  them  in  an  angle  of  the  wall  to  say  that  certain  officials 
having  gathered  at  his  house  for  the  discussion  of  public 
business  it  would  be  unsafe  to  proceed  thither. 

"Then  is  the  night  lost,"  said  Catesby  impatiently,  "for, 


88  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

although  the  Holy  Father  be  provided  with  a  hiding 
place  within  the  city,  and  will,  perchance,  remain  among 
us  for  the  space  of  two  days,  much  weighty  business  be- 
sides long  disputations,  require  his  attention.  Thou 
shouldst  have  seen  to  it,  Master  Percy,  that  thy  house 
was  free  from  the  hirelings  of  the  King."  Percy  would 
have  replied  in  anger,  but  Sir  Thomas  Winter  inter- 
rupted: 

"Friend  Guido,  thou  hast  a  dwelling  in  a  quiet  portion 
of  the  town,  where  perchance  we  might  sit  together  for 
the  discussion  of  such  things  as  now  concern  us." 

Fawkes,  who  had  scarcely  spoken  since  meeting  with 
the  King  in  the  forest,  acquiesced  in  this  proposition, 
although  the  thought  of  his  daughter,  the  smallness  of 
his  house,  and  the  nature  of  the  conference  caused  some 
conflict  in  his  mind.  Yet,  having  resolved  to  serve  the 
cause  which  he  held  so  dear,  his  scruples  speedily  van- 
ished, the  more  so  that  'twas  Sir  Thomas  Winter  who 
requested  the  favor. 

This  matter  being  so  quickly  decided,  Fawkes  became 
the  guide  of  the  party,  and  turning  into  a  narrow  street 
which  ended  in  a  lane  running  behind  his  house,  straight- 
way brought  his  companions  to  their  destination. 


THE  FORGING  OF  THE  THUNDERBOLT.  89 


CHAPTER  X. 
THE  FORGING  OF  THE  THUNDERBOLT. 

Upon  reaching  the  gate  which  opened  from  the  garden 
of  his  dwelling  into  the  lane,  Fawkes  signaled  his  four 
companions  to  secure  their  horses  and  follow  him.  Hav- 
ing complied,  he  led  them  through  the  garden,  unlocked 
the  door  and  bade  them  enter. 

"Faith!"  whispered  Catesby,  pressing  Garnet's  elbow, 
"friend  Guido  doth  seem  over  cautious  in  leading  us 
about  so  secretly." 

"Not  so!"  replied  the  Jesuit,  "  'tis  a  gift  born  of  much 
experience  in  a  country  where  the  careless  rattle  of  a 
scabbard  may  lead  to  most  serious  results.  But  it  is  in 
my  mind  as  in  thine,  that  being  peaceful  gentlemen  who 
have  rendered  some  slight  service  to  his  Majesty  the  King, 
we  might  act  with  more  boldness;  yet  caution  is  a  jewel 
which,  once  attained,  should  not  be  lightly  cast  aside,  and 
Master  Fawkes  doth  cling  to  it." 

The  voice  of  the  soldier  of  fortune  bidding  them  come 
on  precluded  the  reply  which  arose  to  Catesby's  lips,  and 
crossing  a  narrow  hall  the  horsemen  entered  a  room 
whose  cheerful  brightness  contrasted  pleasantly  with  the 
darkness  of  the  passage  into  which  they  had  been  ushered. 

After  assisting  his  guests  to  remove  their  mantles, 
Fawkes  placed  before  them  cups  and  wine,  added  a  fresh 
fagot  to  the  fire,  and  turned  to  Sir  Thomas  Winter. 

"My  lord!"  said  he,  "I  pray  thee  attend  to  the  com- 
fort of  these  gentlemen  till  I  return.  'Tis  my  custom  to 


90  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

inspect  the  house  before  retiring,  lest  any  be  astir,  and 
to-night  I  deem  it  doubly  prudent." 

"And  who  hast  thou  in  the  house,  good  Guido?"  asked 
Garnet  blandly;  "no  one,  I  trust,  who  will  interrupt  our 
conversation?" 

Fawkes  laughed  softly.  "None  are  within,"  replied  he, 
"except  my  old  mother,  who,  were  she  to  stand  beside 
yon  fireplace,  would  scarce  note  the  meaning  of  our  dis- 
course; and  my  daughter,  a  loyal  Catholic,  yet,  being  a 
maid,  and  gifted  with  a  woman's  curiosity,  it  might  be 
her  pleasure  to  seek  the  meaning  of  so  rare  a  gathering 
beneath  my  roof." 

Garnet  nodded  approvingly.  That  he  had  come  to 
London  in  disguise  had  filled  him  with  some  apprehen- 
sion, and  the  cautiousness  of  his  host  quieted  his  fears. 

"Thy  cavalier  is  indeed  a  man  of  much  promise,"  said 
he  to  Winter,  after  the  soldier  left  the  room,  "and  I 
warrant  that  none  will  venture  to  disturb  us.  Hast 
sounded  him  thoroughly  upon  religious  matters?" 

"Thou  shalt  see,"  replied  Sir  Thomas.  "If  the  zeal  of 
each  Catholic  in  England  reached  but  to  the  half  of  his 
loyalty  to  the  holy  cause,  there  would  scarce  be  need  that 
a  father  of  the  Church  don  plumed  hat  and  rapier." 

Fawkes,  in  the  meantime,  had  betaken  himself  to  the 
upper  floor  of  the  house,  where  was  situate  his  daughter's 
chamber.  There  was  no  fear  in  his  mind  that  his  aged 
mother  would  note  the  arrival  of  his  guests,  for  'twas  her 
custom  to  retire  at  sundown  by  reason  of  infirmities ;  but 
about  his  daughter  there  arose  some  apprehension.  He 
felt  sure  that  no  words  which,  by  chance,  might  reach  her 
ear  would  be  carried  further,  yet,  'twas  against  his  wish 
that  anything  should  add  to  her  disquietude. 

Coming  to  the  door  of  her  room,  which  was  directly 


THE    FORGING    OF   THE   THUNDERBOLT.      91 

above  that  occupied  by  the  four  friends,  he  listened  in- 
tently, and  hearing  no  sound  within,  softly  turned  the 
knob  and  peered  into  the  apartment.  The  light  of  the 
full  moon  shining  through  the  window,  revealed  to  him 
the  interior  bathed  in  a  mellow  radiance.  No  sound 
greeted  his  ear  save  the  crackling  of  the  fagots  in  the 
huge  fireplace  below,  and  the  faint  murmur  of  the  voices 
of  his  guests.  He  paused, — a  hundred  conflicting  emo- 
tions filling  his  breast.  The  sight  of  the  curtained  bed 
standing  in  an  angle  of  the  wall  drew  his  attention.  He 
pushed  the  door  yet  further  open,  and  holding  his  scab- 
bard that  its  rattle  might  not  disturb  the  sleeper,  slipped 
across  the  threshold  and  approaching  noiselessly,  parted 
the  hangings  and  looked  down. 

The  maid  was  lying  with  her  face  turned  full  upon  him, 
her  cheek  resting  upon  one  white,  rounded  arm.  In  the 
weird  moonlight  her  pale  beauty  startled  him,  and  almost 
unconsciously,  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  touch  her. 
His  fingers,  resting  lightly  upon  the  counterpane,  came 
in  contact  with  something  cold;  it  caused  a  shudder  to 
pass  through  him,  a  nameless  terror,  and  for  an  instant 
he  forgot  the  four  men  waiting  in  the  room  below.  Bend- 
ing lower,  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  object  which  had  so 
startled  him.  Twas  a  silver  crucifix  which  had  fallen 
from  the  sleeper's  fingers,  and  lay  upon  her  breast.  At 
the  sight  great  emotion  and  agitation  swept  through  his 
heart,  rough  soldier  though  he  was;  for  the  moment  he 
was  well  nigh  overpowered.  The  silence  of  the  chamber, 
the  white  face  so  near  his  own,  and  the  emblem  of  his 
faith  placed  unconsciously  upon  the  breast  of  the  beloved 
one  who  lay  there,  filled  him  with  superstitious  awe. 
Twas  thus  the  dead  slept,  ere  they  were  carried  to  the 
grave. 

7 


92  THE   FIFTH    OF  NOVEMBER. 

A  movement  of  the  white  arm  broke  the  influence  of 
the  spell.  The  girl  turned  uneasily,  a  few  incoherent 
words  escaping  her  lips.  Fawkes  drew  back  noiselessly. 
"She  sleeps!"  he  muttered,  and  passing  from  the  room, 
closed  the  door  softly,  and  descended  to  those  who 
awaited  him  below. 

Scarce  had  his  footsteps  ceased  to  echo  on  the  stairs, 
when  Elinor  awoke.  Though  wrapped  in  deep  slumber, 
that  inexplicable  mystery,  a  consciousness  that  she  was 
not  alone,  startled  her.  Sitting  upright,  her  eyes  fell 
upon  an  object  lying  at  the  side  of  the  bed;  a  doe-skin 
gauntlet  which  she  recognized  as  belonging  to  her  father. 

Surprised  that  he  should  thus  have  entered  her  cham- 
ber, a  feeling  of  alarm  possessed  her.  The  crackling  of 
the  fire  in  the  room  below,  the  tell-tale  glove  upon  the 
floor,  and  the  faint  murmur  which  she  felt  assured  must 
be  the  voices  of  men  engaged  in  earnest  conversation, 
aroused  her  apprehension  as  well  as  her  curiosity,  and  it 
seemed  no  ill  thing  that  she  should  discover  the  meaning 
of  so  unusual  an  occurrence,  for  their  dwelling  was  sit- 
uated in  a  quiet  part  of  London  and  'twas  not  the  wont 
of  any  to  visit  it  at  such  an  hour.  Then,  the  thought 
came  to  her  that  perhaps  certain  companions  of  her 
father,  rough  soldiers  like  himself,  had  come  together  to 
partake  of  his  hospitality.  Calmed  for  the  moment,  she 
would  have  sought  sleep  again,  had  not  a  sentence, 
uttered  with  clear  distinctness,  reached  her  ear. 

"Ah,  good  Master  Fawkes!  Thou  hast  found  all  quiet, 
and  thy  household  sleeping  soundly?" 

The  intonation  of  the  question  startled  her.  Why 
should  her  father  seek  to  learn  whether  she  slept  or  not? 
Surely  in  the  meeting  of  a  few  boon  companions  over  a 
flask  of  wine,  such  precaution  was  not  necessary.  Not 


THE    FORGING   OF   THE   THUNDERBOLT.     93 

delaying  for  further  meditation,  she  slipped  out  of  bed, 
and  crept  noiselessly  to  that  side  of  the  room  against 
which  arose  the  huge  brick  chimney  above  the  fireplace 
below.  Through  the  space  between  the  flooring  and  the 
masonry,  a  glare  of  light  came  up  to  her  as  well  as  the 
voices  of  those  beneath.  Crouching  against  the  warm 
bricks  she  listened,  unmindful  of  the  cold  and  her  equivo- 
cal position. 

The  assurance  which  Fawkes  gave  to  his  companions 
that  the  house  was  quiet,  and  none  would  interrupt  them, 
removed  the  reserve  which  each  had  hitherto  felt.  Time 
was  indeed  precious,  for  Garnet  desired  to  return  ere  day- 
break to  his  hiding  place,  lest  any  should  perceive  that, 
lying  beneath  the  doublet  of  a  cavalier,  was  the  insignia 
of  a  churchman,  a  discovery  upon  which  great  misfortune 
might  follow.  'Twas  with  scant  preliminaries,  therefore, 
that  Catesby,  ever  foremost  in  zeal,  boldness  and  assur- 
ance, addressed  his  companions. 

"Methinks,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  Jesuit,  "that  in  thy 
wisdom  thou  must  have  perceived  something  to  our  ben- 
efit in  saving  James  of  Scotland  from  my  bullet.  Yet,  to 
me  it  did  appear  that  the  Lord  gave  him  into  our  power." 

A  shadow  of  impatience  darkened  the  priest's  brow, 
but  in  an  instant  his  features  resumed  their  accustomed 
mildness. 

"My  son!"  he  replied,  "it  would  have  been  an  ill  thing 
to  slay  our  master  after  the  manner  of  paid  assassins. 
Twas  in  thy  heart  to  kill  the  King;  what  then?" 

Catesby  bit  his  lip.  That  there  lay  some  weighty  reason 
in  the  mind  of  the  Superior  for  his  unexpected  friendli- 
ness to  James,  he  comprehended,  but  his  spirit,  unused 
to  restraint,  and  darkened  by  adversity,  illy  brooked  op- 
position. 


94  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"What  then?"  replied  he,  in  answer  to  Garnet's  ques- 
tion. "  Twould  have  rid  the  kingdom  of  a  tyrant,  and 
our  faith  of  its  bitterest  enemy." 

The  Jesuit  smiled  sadly.  "As  thou  hast  spoken,"  said 
he,  "the  King  would  be  dead,  and  trouble  us  no  more,  but 
what  of  the  Parliament?  Is  it  then  James  alone  who  dis- 
tresses us?" 

"Methinks,"  broke  in  Percy,  "that  our  worthy  father 
hath  put  it  to  us  wisely.  Did  the  Scot  lose  his  life,  another 
would  arise  in  his  place,  and  the  suspicions  of  the  authori- 
ties awakened,  there  would  be  no  peace  in  England  for  a 
Catholic." 

"  Tis  even  so,"  said  Garnet;  "the  killing  of  one  man, 
though  he  be  the  King,  can  scarce  better  our  situation. 
What  then,  thou  wouldst  ask,  shall  be  done  to  lighten 
our  condition?  We  must  lull  into  a  feeling  of  security 
those  who  press  hard  upon  us,  that,  when  the  sky  seems 
clearest  the  bolt  may  fall  and  the  stroke  be  the  more 
scathing.  Brave  Guido  here  will  tell  thee  that  in  that 
country  where  plots  are  thickest,  'tis  false  security  which 
most  often  leads  the  victim  to  destruction.  It  may  be, 
and  doubtless  is  in  the  King's  mind,  and  also  in  that  of 
his  Parliament,  that  the  quietness  of  the  Catholics  for  so 
long  a  time  indicates  continued  subserviency,  arid  not  a 
gathering  of  forces  to  strike  against  their  tyranny.  In 
certain  lands  there  are  desert  places  where  travelers  have 
perished  because  the  storm  king  hid  his  face  until  the 
hour  for  overwhelming  destruction  sounded.  Thinkest 
thou  that  had  the  murmur  of  his  coming  reached  their 
ears  they  would  not  have  taken  warning  and  sought  a 
place  of  safety?  Tis  so  in  England.  Had  the  King  been 
shot,  the  news  would  have  stirred  the  kingdom  from  Ber- 
wick unto  Dover.  What  then  of  our  plans  and  secret 


THE    FORGING    OF   THE   THUNDERBOLT.      95 

plottings,  when  each  man  who  worshiped  at  our  altars 
appeared  a  traitor?  It  hath  always  been  my  firm  convic- 
tion and  unvarying  counsel  that  any  blow  must  be  far 
reaching;  not  James  alone,  but  others  besides  must  fall, 
to  give  us  any  vantage  ground." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed  Garnet's  words.  Percy 
first  replied:  "  Tis  a  storm  of  extreme  fury  and  sudden 
change  of  wind  which  overcomes  a  vessel.  Who  then  will 
bring  about  the  hurricane  which  shall  wreck  the  ship  of 
State?" 

During  the  Jesuit's  address  Sir  Thomas  Winter  sat 
immovable,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  fire  and  his  brow  con- 
tracted in  deep  thought.  As  Percy  finished  he  turned 
suddenly  to  Fawkes. 

"Friend  Guido,"  said  he  smoothly,  "thou  art  a  man  of 
many  resources;  perchance  in  Spain  thou  hast  learned 
something  a  suggestion  of  which  will  now  aid  us.  Thou 
perceiveth  our  condition." 

Fawkes  turned  his  gaze  moodily  upon  the  embers. 
Half  unconsciously  his  fingers  had  been  toying  with  a 
powder  flask  lying  on  the  table  before  him,  and  a  small 
portion  of  its  contents  had  fallen  into  his  palm.  He  tossed 
the  black  grains  into  the  fire,  where  they  flashed  for  an 
instant,  sending  a  pungent  ball  of  white  smoke  into  the 
room.  Twas  as  though  the  craftiness  of  Satan  had  shown 
to  him  the  embryo  of  the  hurricane. 

"In  Spain,"  replied  he  grimly,  "there  are  many  ways 
to  overthrow  a  tyrant;  in  England,  as  the  Holy  Father 
saith,  'twill  need  more  caution.  Once  upon  a  time  the 
captain  of  a  fighting  vessel,  fearing  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  those  who  would  destroy  his  ship  and  put  the  crew  to 
torture,  himself  applied  the  fire  to  the  magazine,  it  being 


96  THE   FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

filled  with  powder,   and  ten  score  men  perished  in  a 
twinkling." 

His  companions  were  startled,  for  the  meaning  of  his 
words  was  clear  to  them.  As  by  a  flash  of  light  a  way 
seemed  to  open  which,  if  followed,  would  lead  to  the  ful- 
fillment of  their  purpose.  Catesby  leaned  forward. 

"But  if  it  fail,  friend  Guide?"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 
"What  then?" 

"Then!"  cried  Fawkes,  turning  to  the  Jesuit,  "I  will 
kill  the  King, — if  need  be  even  without  help!  For  what 
then  would  remain  to  us?" 

Garnet  replied  nothing.  The  words  of  the  soldier  of 
fortune  startled  him.  Instantly  he  saw  the  meaning  of  the 
plan  which  Fawkes  had  formed; — a  plan  which,  if  once 
entered  upon,  would  be  carried  out  by  him  with  all  the 
zeal  of  a  fanatic.  The  fiendishness  of  it,  while  it  roused 
his  admiration  of  the  man's  ingenuity,  made  him  shudder; 
for  'twas  not  thus  men  struck  in  England. 

"Come!"  said  he  rising,  "  'tis  close  upon  midnight,  and 
the  ride  was  wearisome.  Thy  words  have  taken  strong 
hold  upon  me,  good  Guido,  and  I  need  a  season  of  prayer 
and  meditation  to  gain  better  understanding  in  this  mat- 
ter. My  cloak,  therefore,  that  I  may  leave  thee." 

Obedient  to  his  wishes  the  others  hastened  their  prep- 
arations for  departure,  and  in  silence  Fawkes  led  them 
through  the  passage  to  the  door  by  which  they  had  en- 
tered his  dwelling. 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD.        97 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD. 

On  hearing  the  sounds  which  indicated  the  departure 
of  those  in  the  room  beneath,  Elinor  arose  from  her 
cramped  position  and  noiselessly  crept  to  the  window. 
In  the  moonlit  garden  she  could  distinguish  the  figures  of 
four  men  going  in  the  direction  of  the  lane  at  the  back 
of  the  house.  One  she  recognized  as  Sir  Thomas  Winter; 
the  others  were  unknown  to  her.  But  in  a  moment  she 
heard  her  father's  voice  as  he  uttered  a  warning  to  the 
horsemen:  "Mind  the  ditch,  Lord  Percy!  Sir  Catesby, 
keep  well  to  the  left!" 

Then  Fawkes  closed  the  door,  and  she  could  hear  his 
movements  as  he  went  about  extinguishing  the  lights. 
His  footsteps  sounded  on  the  stairs.  If  by  chance  he 
came  into  the  chamber  and  found  her  awake  and  up,  what 
then?  He  would  readily  surmise  how  much  it  had  been 
possible  for  her  to  hear.  Once  in  his  anger,  she  remem- 
bered, he  had  valued  her  life  but  cheaply; — within  two 
short  hours  Elinor  had  learned  to  look  upon  her  father 
with  terror,  almost  with  dread;  those  words  of  his  rang 
in  her  ears:  "I  will  kill  the  King  if  need  be,  even  without 
help!" 

The  footsteps  approached  her  room.  What  was  she  to 
do?  It  was  too  late  to  gain  the  bed  and  feign  slumber, 
for  the  creaking  of  a  loose  board  would  certainly  attract 
his  attention.  She  hoped  the  door  was  secured,  but  had 
no  recollection  of  locking  it.  At  last  he  had  gained  the 
passage;  now  he  was  before  her  room  and  placed  his 


98  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

hand  upon  the  latch;  it  was  not  locked,  for  the  door 
opened.  The  man  peered  in  through  the  crevice  and 
gazed  in  her  direction.  How  her  heart  throbbed,  shaking 
her  whole  body,  and  sending  the  blood  through  her  veins 
with  a  sound  which  she  feared  he  would  hear.  She 
thanked  God  that  the  moon  shone  directly  through  the 
window  and  her  position  was  well  out  of  its  rays.  He 
evidently  did  not  see  the  girl,  for  after  a  scrutiny  of  the 
bed,  which  stood  well  in  the  shadow,  and  a  muttered, 
"Safe,  safe  enough;  all  safe,"  he  closed  the  door  and 
passed  down  the  corridor. 

Elinor  for  a  moment  stood  listening  to  the  retreating 
footsteps ;  then  sank  into  a  chair,  exhausted  by  the  strain 
of  the  last  few  moments,  and  tried  to  gather  her  scattered 
thoughts.  With  woman's  intuition  she  quickly  grasped 
the  enormity  of  all  she  had  overheard,  comprehending 
that  high  treason  and  wholesale  murder  had  been 
planned ;  but  the  hardest  truth  for  her  to  realize  was  that 
her  father,  whom  she  had  always  trusted  and  looked  upon 
as  the  embodiment  of  honor  and  uprightness,  was  the 
foremost  to  suggest  and  even  offer  to  carry  out  the  fearful 
deed.  "I  will  kill  the  King,  if  need  be,  even  without  help:" 
the  awful  sentence  seemed  to  be  repeated  over  and 
over  again  by  the  rustling  night  wind.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  save  him  from  the  consequences  of  such  an  act. 
Were  not  the  names  of  Moore  and  Essex  familiar  to  her? 
And  what  was  their  fate  for  even  a  suspected  treason? 
Her  hysterical  imagination  placed  vividly  before  her  the 
head  of  the  father  she  loved,  lying  bleeding  in  that  patch 
of  moonlight  on  the  floor. 

But  what  could  she  do  in  her  weakness?  Go  to  her 
father  and  beseech  him  that,  for  love  of  her,  he  would  take 
no  part  in  this  terrible  crime?  That  would  accomplish 


THE    WAY    OF   THE    WORLD.  99 

nothing,  for  she  knew  him  to  be  one  whom  naught  could 
turn  from  a  deed  he  once  undertook  and  looked  upon  as 
justified.  And  now  the  most  passionate  fanaticism  had 
seized  him — fanaticism  of  the  most  dangerous  kind,  born 
of  wrongs  done  to  his  faith.  To  whom  could  she  turn 
for  aid?  She  knew  but  one  who,  perhaps,  had  some  influ- 
ence over  Fawkes'  stubborn  mind.  However,  was  not 
this  very  one  as  deep  in  the  treason  as  her  father?  Win- 
ter! The  name  caused  a  shudder,  bringing  to  mind  that 
terrible  morning  ten  days  past.  Winter!  She  must  then 
seek  help  from  him;  her  hopes  clung  only  to  a  straw; 
nevertheless  she  would  go  and  beg,  if  need  be,  even  upon 
bended  knee,  that  he  would  persuade  her  father  to  relin- 
quish this  terrible  purpose.  Yes,  now  was  the  time  to 
act,  for  she  feared  in  her  indefinite  terror  that  the  morrow 
might  be  too  late. 

Quickly  seizing  a  cloak  and  throwing  it  about  her, 
Elinor  crept  toward  the  door  and  listened.  The  place  was 
dark,  and  quiet  as  the  grave.  Swiftly  she  descended  the 
stairs,  then  groped  her  way  to  the  door  and  tried  to  with- 
draw the  bolts.  Would  they  never  yield  to  her  efforts? 
At  last  they  slipped  with  a  sound  which  echoed  through 
the  house.  The  girl  paused,  expecting  to  hear  her 
father's  voice,  but  the  silence  was  unbroken.  In  a  mo- 
ment she  was  out  in  the  moonlit  street.  How  quiet  and 
serene  everything  appeared.  How  in  contrast  to  the 
tumult  of  her  feelings.  As  she  stood,  the  great  bell  of 
St.  Paul's  boomingly  tolled  out  the  hour — twelve  o'clock. 

"He  must,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  "he  must  be  home 
ere  now,  but  what  will  he  think  of  my  coming  to  him  at 
this  time?"  She  tried  to  thrust  this  thought  aside,  and  to 
gain  repose  of  mind  by  walking  more  swiftly. 

Arrived   before   Winter's   residence,    and   trying    the 


100  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

wicket  at  the  entrance  she  found  it  yielded  to  her  touch. 
The  girl  beheld  a  stream  of  light  coming  from  between 
the  curtains  of  a  window  on  the  second  floor.  The  master 
of  the  house  was  then  within.  Quickly  Elinor  passed  up 
the  walk  and  stood  before  the  door.  As  she  raised  the 
knocker  her  resolution  almost  gave  way.  What  was  she 
about  to  tell  Winter.  That  she,  a  girl,  was  possessed  of 
this  terrible  secret! 

Suddenly  came  to  her  memory  the  dreadful  words  con- 
necting this  man's  name  with  hers.  She  thought  of  the 
few  times  when  they  had  been  together;  how  eager  he 
had  seemed  to  be  near  her;  with  what  a  trembling  clasp 
he  had  carried  her  fingers  to  his  lips  and  imprinted  upon 
them  kisses  which  burned  themselves  into  the  very  flesh. 
And  now  she  was  about  to  face  him  in  the  dead  of  night 
— and  alone!  Her  fingers  relaxed  their  hold.  "Courage, 
courage,"  she  murmured;  and  quickly  laying  hold  of  the 
knocker  again,  she  smote  tnrice  upon  the  panel  and  lis- 
tened. There  soon  fell  upon  her  ear  the  sound  of  some 
one  coming  in  answer  to  her  summons.  The  door  opened 
and  a  sleepy  servant  stood  regarding  her  with  an  air  of 
no  small  astonishment. 

"Is  thy  master  at  home?"  she  inquired,  in  a  voice  which, 
in  spite  of  her  efforts,  trembled. 

"That  he  is,  young  miss,  but  what  wouldst  thou  with 
him  at  this  late  hour?  He  hath  but  just  returned  from  a 
journey,  and  is  sore  weary.  Canst  thou  not  wait  until  the 
morning?" 

"I  must  see- him  at  once;  'tis  on  the  most  urgent  busi- 
ness." 

The  hour,  coupled  with  the  fairness  of  the  visitor, 
seemed  to  fill  the  servant  with  surprise,  for  he  stood  a 
moment  looking  at  her,  then  replied : 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    WORLD.  IOI 

"If  thou  wilt  step  inside,  mistress,  I'll  inform  Sir  Win- 
ter that  there  be  someone  who  wishes  to  hold  converse 
with  him,  and  perchance,"  he  added  with  a  meaning 
smile,  "he'll  not  be  so  badly  put  eut  after  all.  What  name 
shall  I  bear  to  him?  It  may  be  one,"  he  continued  signifi- 
cantly, "which  would  soon  draw  any  bolt  Sir  Thomas 
might  have  shot." 

"No  name  is  necessary,"  she  answered,  looking  at  the 
man  and  pointing  with  her  finger.  "I  seek  thy  master 
and  come  not  to  parley  with  his  menial.  Go !  Say  a  lady 
would  speak  with  him." 

The  servant  read  in  the  girl's  eye  a  look  which  seemed 
to  brook  neither  delay  nor  familiarity,  for  he  turned  and 
went  along  the  passage  and  up  the  stairway. 

As  Elinor  waited,  the  utter  hopelessness  of  her  mission 
broke  full  upon  her,  but  it  was  now  too  late  to  draw 
back  from  her  hasty  act;  the  voice  of  Winter  could  be 
heard  exclaiming  with  a  laugh : 

"What,  a  lady  to  see  me  at  this  hour?  Troth,  I  am 
fatigued,  but  never  so  weary  that  I  cannot  look  upon  a 
fair  face.  Admit  her." 

A  door  opened  and  closed;  the  servant  reappeared  and 
beckoned  her.  "Sir  Thomas  will  see  thee;  'tis  the  third 
portal  from  the  landing,"  he  said,  pointing  up  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  floor  above. 

As  Elinor  followed  the  directions  given,  she  endeav- 
ored to  frame  some  fitting  sentence  with  which  to  begin 
her  interview,  but  her  agitation  was  too  great ;  she  could 
think  of  none.  Arriving  before  the  door'she  tapped  with 
her  fingers  upon  the  panel. 

"Enter,  my  pretty  one,"  cried  a  voice.  "Thou  hast 
already  been  announced." 

S1-"  stepped  within  the  chamber.    Winter  sat  with  his 


102  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

back  toward  the  entrance  facing  a  table  upon  which  stood 
a  flagon  of  wine.  As  the  door  closed  he  turned,  and  to 
her  horror  Elinor  saw  that  he  was  flushed  with  strong 
drink. 

"What?  Elinor?"  exclaimed  Winter,  in  astonishment, 
rising  from  the  chair  with  such  haste  that  it  was  over- 
turned and  fell  with  a  clatter  to  the  floor.  "I  crave  thy 
pardon,  Mistress  Fawkes,"  he  continued  with  a  bow,  mas- 
tering his  surprise.  "Thy  sudden  entrance  caused  my 
tongue  to  utter  the  name  that  ever  dwells  within  my 
heart.  Pray  tell  me  to  what  happy  circumstance  am  I 
indebted  for  the  honor  of  this  visit?  I  would  know  the 
same  that  I  may  render  homage  to  it." 

Elinor  stood  speechless,  filled  with  abhorrence  and 
dread.  All  her  bravery  could  scarce  keep  her  from  flying 
out  of  the  room.  She  endeavored  to  fix  her  mind  on  the 
purpose  which  had  brought  her  here,  and  so  find  courage. 
At  last  desperation  gave  her  voice  and  she  began  hur- 
riedly: 

"I  know  that  thou  and  others  were  at  my  father's 
house  this  night.  I  was  not  asleep  as  ye  all  supposed,  and 
have  come  to  beg,  to  beseech,  pray,  that  my  father  be 
released  from  this  terrible  treason  which  hath  been  talked 
of.  Thou  wert  the  only  one  to  whom  I  could  turn  for 
aid — I  trust  to  thy  goodness,  to  thy  noble  nature; — for 
the  love  of  God  tell  me  not  that  I  come  in  vain.  See — 
see,"  she  cried  hysterically,  her  self  control  gone  and 
falling  upon  her  knees.  "I  kneel  before  thee  to  crave  this 
boon." 

At  her  first  words  Winter  started  as  if  a  pike  had  been 
thrust  into  his  side.  On  his  face  was  written  blank  aston- 
ishment, which  expression,  as  she  proceeded,  gave  way  to 
one  of  abject  fear.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  say 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    WORLD.  103 

which  of  the  two  was  the  more  agitated.  He  dashed  a 
hand  to  his  brow  as  if  to  drive  away  the  fumes  of  liquor 
which  had  mounted  to  his  brain ;  looked  at  the  kneeling 
figure;  gazed  on  the  tapers  burning  upon  the  table;  and 
tried  to  form  some  words  of  reply.  At  last,  with  an  effort 
at  composure,  and  endeavoring  to  force  a  laugh  past  his 
dry  lips,  he  said: 

"What  silly  tale  is  this  thou  utterest.  I  have  not 
been " 

"Nay,"  the  girl  broke  in  wildly,  "  'tis  useless  for  thee 
to  say  so.  My  eyes  and  ears  did  not  deceive  me.  Would 
to  heaven  they  had  and  it  were  only  some  mad  dream 
which  fills  my  brain." 

"Then — then — thou  hast  played  the  spy,"  hissed  Win- 
ter, in  sudden  anger  born  of  drink  and  fear.  "Dost  know 
to  what  thou  hast  listened?  Has  aught  of  it  passed  thy 
lips?  Speak!"  he  cried  furiously,  seizing  the  girl's  arm 
and  glaring  at  her  in  drunken  rage.  "Nay;  then  thou 
didst  not,  and  'tis  well;  for  if  thy  lips  had  breathed  one 
word  these  hands  of  mine  would  choke  from  out  thy  body 
its  sweet  breath."  He  relinquished  his  hold,  and  turning 
toward  the  table  hurriedly  drained  a  sup  of  wine. 

Elinor,  spellbound  with  terror  at  his  outburst  of  fury, 
stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  She  realized  the  madness  of 
her  words,  seeing  plainly  that  the  man's  condition  was 
one  which  made  both  prayers  and  entreaties  useless. 
Again  he  filled  a  cup  and  dashed  it  off.  What  his  state 
would  be  in  a  few  moments  she  dared  not  think.  His 
back  was  toward  her;  now  was  her  chance  to  escape! 
Slowly  the  girl  edged  her  way  toward  the  entrance.  At 
last  she  reached  it;  her  hand  groped  behind  the  curtain 
for  the  knob;  it  turned,  but  to  her  horror,  she  discovered 
the  door  was  securely  fastened. 


104  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

A  laugh  greeted  her  from  the  table.  "What,  surely, 
Mistress  Fawkes — nay,  by  my  troth,  Mistress  Fawkes  it 
shall  be  no  more,  for  'tis  too  cold  a  title;  therefore,  Pretty 
Elinor — wouldst  leave  me,  and  thy  errand  but  half  done? 
I  swear  thy  words  did  at  first  affright;  but  see,  this  good 
wine,"  he  continued,  advancing  toward  her  unsteadily, 
"hath  taught  me  wisdom,  and  this  I  know,  our  secret 
once  hid  in  thy  fair  breast,  could  ne'er  be  driven  forth, 
even  if  thou  wished,  as  'tis  too  warm  a  resting  place  for  it 
to  relinquish.  Why  dost  thou  shrink  from  me?  Dost 
know,"  he  added,  a  fierce  gleam  coming  into  his  eyes, 
"I  would  try  to  pluck  great  Saturn  from  the  heavens  if 
thou  wished  to  gird  about  thy  waist  his  rings?  Aye,  and 
would  give  my  soul  for  a  kiss  from  thy  warm  lips,  think- 
ing my  soul  well  sold.  Elinor!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  husky 
voice,  "hast  thou  never  read  my  passion  for  thee?  Tis 
written " 

"Then!"  cried  the  girl,  "think  upon  that  love  and  for 
God's  sake  let  me  hence." 

"What?  Is  my  love  so  beggarly  a  thing  that  the  only 
answer  deigned  to  its  utterance  is  a  scurvy  request  to 
get  beyond  its  hearing?  Nay,  I  have  looked  upon  thy 
frozen  greetings  long  enough,  and  they,  I  tell  thee,  have 
poorly  matched  my  ardor.  Listen!  Thou  dost  wish  to 
go?"  he  questioned,  placing  himself  before  the  door  and 
holding  to  the  curtains  for  support.  "Well,  I  will  ask 
but  cheap  recompense  for  the  loss  of  thy  fair  company. 
'Tis  a  kiss  from  thy  red  lips;  what  sayest  thou?" 

"And  thou  dost  call  thyself  a  gentleman!"  exclaimed 
Elinor  looking  at  him  with  scorn,  her  fear  in  a  measure 
giving  place  to  indignation  at  the  insolent  and  shameless 
words.  "Let  me  depart,  I  say — nay,  I  command  thee." 

"Ha!  ha!    Thou,  I  think,  art  carrying  thyself  loftily. 


THE    WAY    OF   THE    WORLD.  105 

'Command!'"  he  repeated  with  a  laugh.  "Nay,  marry! 
Here  thou  wilt  stay  until  them  thinkest  thy  going  worth 
the  price.  And  while  thou  dost  meditate  upon  it  I  will 
drink  to  thy  health."  He  staggered  toward  the  table  and 
refilled  the  cup. 

Elinor  glanced  about  the  room  seeking  some  possible 
avenue  of  escape.  Her  eyes  rested  upon  the  portieres  in 
front  of  the  window;  she  moved  toward  them,  but  as  her 
dress  rustled  Winter  turned  at  the  sound. 

"Aye,  walk  the  room,  my  pretty  one;  thou  wilt  find  thy 
cage  well  barred.  But  enough  of  this,"  he  continued, 
approaching  her,  "we  do  but  delay.  Thou  didst  ask  thy 
father's  release  from  his  compact.  Well,  he  shall  be  set 
free,  but  thou  must  recompense — not  in  coin,  not  in  some 
heavy  muttered  penance,  but  by  thy  beauty."  He  caught 
the  girl  in  his  arms  and  whispered  in  her  ear.  Then  the 
indignities  which  had  been  heaped  upon  her  gave 
strength  to  her  arm.  No  sooner  had  his  drunken  tongue 
uttered  the  sentence  than  she  smote  with  all  her  might 
the  face  gazing  into  hers.  The  blow  for  a  moment  stag- 
gered the  man  and  he  released  his  hold ;  in  that  instant  of 
freedom  Elinor  sprang  toward  the  window,  dashing  the 
curtains  aside. 

"Stand  back!"  she  cried,  as  he  made  a  step  toward  her, 
his  face  purple  with  rage,  "and  for  thy  wicked  words  ask 
forgiveness  from  heaven  ere  it  blast  thee.  Where  is  thy 
religion,  where  thy  manhood,  thou  beast?  Aye,  beast  is 
too  good  a  term  for  such  as  thee,  for  they  respect  the  sex 
— even  the  stag  will  not  goad  the  doe.  I  fear  thee  not; 
move  from  where  thou  art  and  by  the  God  who  heard  thy 
wicked  words  I'll  cry  thy  infamy  and  treason  in  a  voice 
which  shall  'rouse  all  London,  and  wake  the  sleepy  heads- 
man to  grind  the  axe.  Now,  I  fear  thee  not!" 

8 


106  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

For  a  moment  Winter  paused,  looking  at  the  girl. 
Then  his  quick  wit,  no  longer  dulled  by  the  wine  which 
had  blinded  him  to  the  consequences  of  the  words  he  had 
uttered,  came  to  his  aid,  and  he  replied : 

"What?  And  lay  thy  father's  head,  as  well  as  mine, 
upon  the  block?" 

The  curtain  dropped  from  the  girl's  hand;  she  stag- 
gered, catching  it  for  support ;  then  quickly  reovered  her- 
self and  with  determination  flashing  from  her  eyes  ex- 
claimed: "Nay,  then,  I  will  not  cry  thy  treason;  my 
tongue  is  mute.  But  stir  one  foot  and  I  leap  from  off  the 
balcony,  gladly  embracing  the  cold  stones  beneath,  rather 
than  suffer  a  touch  from  thy  guilty  hands." 

"Come!  Come!"  said  Winter,  baffled  by  her  words  and 
spirit;  "I'll  not  harm  thee.  I  was  but  heated  by  the  wine. 
Thou  mayst  depart  in  peace." 

"I  put  no  faith  in  thy  words,"  said  Elinor,  still  standing 
by  the  casement,  "for  thou  hast  taught  me  how  far  one 
who  calls  himself  a  man  may  be  trusted.  Go  thou  and 
unbar  the  door,"  pointing  imperiously  with  her  hand; 
"then  take  thyself  to  the  further  end  of  the  chamber  and 
there  stand." 

Winter  hesitated,  but  even  his  dulled  faculties  recog- 
nized the  superiority  of  the  girl's  position,  and  he  sullenly 
complied  with  her  request.  Not  until  he  had  retired  to 
the  extreme  end  of  the  room  did  Elinor  leave  her  place. 
Then,  she  quickly  fled  into  the  corridor.  Winter  re- 
mained for  a  moment  where  he  was  and,  mad  with 
drunken  rage  when  the  closing  of  the  outer  door  an- 
nounced the  escape  of  his  victim,  exclaimed:  "Aye,  thou 
hast  outwitted  me  for  a  moment;  but  thy  victory  is  not 
for  long.  I  shall  hold  the  laurel  and  also  thee  before 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD.  107 

daybreak."  Then,  staggering  into  the  hall,  he  shouted: 
"Richard!  Richard!" 

A  man  appeared  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs.  "Come! 
Stir  thy  scurvy  legs;  didst  see  the  woman  who  this  mo- 
ment left  me?  Follow,  and  when  at  a  place  thou  deemest 
fit,  throw  this  heavy  mantle  about  her,  and  bring  her  to 
me.  She  will  struggle,  I  trow;  but  thou  knowest  the 
remedy.  Tarry  not;  go  swiftly,  or  she  will  escape." 

At  last  Elinor  was  in  the  street,  and,  dazed  for  a 
moment  by  her  sudden  release  from  the  peril  in  which  she 
had  just  stood,  with  a  terrified  look  over  her  shoulder — 
half  fearing  to  see  a  staggering  figure  in  pursuit,  she  fled 
in  the  direction  of  her  home.  But  what  form  is  this 
which  glides  from  out  the  gate,  and  catching  sight  of  the 
girl  hurries  in  the  direction  she  has  taken?  Like  some 
evil  phantom  it  moves,  noiselessly  and  swiftly,  ever  keep- 
ing well  in  the  shadows. 


108  THE  FIFTH    OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
WHAT    THE    MOON    SAW. 

But  what  of  Fawkes?  Did  any  gloomy  thoughts  dis- 
turb his  rest?  Did  the  shadow  of  the  axe  or  gibbet  fall 
athwart  his  dreams?  If  not,  why  turns  he  so  uneasily  in 
his  slumber  and  at  last  awakes? 

"Sleep  sets  ill  upon  me,"  he  mutters,  drawing  a  hand 
across  his  brow.  In  a  moment  he  arose,  hastily  dressed 
himself,  walked  toward  the  window,  opened  it  and  gazed 
upon  the  night.  Does  some  subtle  bond  of  sympathy 
exist  between  him  and  the  girl  who  is  now  in  peril  of 
death — or  worse?  It  would  seem  so,  for  standing  beside 
the  casement,  he  exlaims: 

"Am  I  a  sickly  child,  or  puny  infant,  that  I  awake, 
frightened  by  silly  visions  which  war  with  sleep,  and  mur- 
der it  ere  'tis  fairly  born?  Troth!"  he  continued,  with 
knitted  brows,  "'twas  strange  my  fancy  painted  such  a 
picture." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  wrapped  in  thought,  then 
added,  shaking  his  head  as  though  unable  to  thrust  aside 
the  memories  which  troubled  him: 

"By  the  blessed  Virgin!  a  most  vivid  dream.  How  she 
held  her  arms  out  to  me,  yet  her  lips  were  mute.  Aye, 
and  the  eyes — the  dumb  horror  written  in  them,  as  if 
beholding  a  specter  which  blanched  the  face  and  fettered 
the  limbs.  I  believe,"  he  added  with  a  sudden  resolu- 
tion, "'tis  a  woman's  trick,  but  I  would  fain  see  her  face 
ere  I  rest  again." 

He  stepped  out  into  the  corridor,  proceeded  in  the  di- 


WHAT    THE    MOON    SAW.  109 

rection  of  his  daughter's  room,  and  softly  entering,  ad- 
vanced toward  the  bed. 

"Not  here!"  exclaimed  he,  beholding  the  empty  couch. 
"Nay,  thou  canst  not  frighten  me,"  he  continued  with  a 
forced  laugh,  gazing  about.  "Come,  show  thyself;  'twas 
a  merry  jest,  but  let's  have  it  done." 

He  paused;  still  no  answer  to  his  summons.  "Elinor," 
he  again  called,  a  shadow  of  anxiety  in  his  tone.  "What 
means  it  that  she  is  nowhere  within  hearing?" 

He  quickly  retraced  his  steps,  passed  down  the  stairs 
and  tried  the  hall  door.  It  was  unbarred,  and  opened  to 
his  touch. 

"By  heaven!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  could  swear  I  shot 
those  bolts  before  going  to  rest,  and  now  they  are  drawn." 

He  stood  anxiously  looking  out  upon  the  star-lit  night. 
His  eyes  wandered  to  the  doorstep,  and  discerned  upon 
its  covering  of  frost  the  imprint  of  a  small  foot. 

He  stooped  to  examine  the  impression  and  hurriedly 
arose.  "She  has  indeed  left  the  house,"  he  cried.  "What 
can  have  taken  the  maiden  out  of  doors  at  this  hour  of 
the  night? — some  secret  tryst?  Nay,  I  do  but  jest;  she's 
not  the  kind  to  go  a-courting  after  the  moon  is  up. 
Mayhap,"  he  continued,  meditating  a  moment,  "a  neigh- 
bor was  stricken  ill  and  they  have  summoned  Elinor  to 
lend  her  gentle  aid.  Marry,"  added  he  in  a  relieved  tone, 
on  finding  a  plausible  excuse  for  his  daughter's  absence, 
"I  do  recollect  Master  Carew's  woman  was  soon  ex- 
pected to  add  one  more  trouble  to  her  husband's  house- 
hold. It  is  most  likely  that  she  went  there.  Tis  a  dark 
way  to  travel,  and  I  will  give  her  a  surprise.  While 
thinking  a  lonely  walk  lies  before  her,  Elinor  will  find 
an  old  but  devoted  cavalier  to  keep  her  company.  First," 


1 10  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

added  he  with  a  laugh,  "I'll  fetch  my  blade;  for  'twould  ill 
befit  a  gallant  in  quest  of  beauty  to  go  unarmed." 

So  saying,  he  disappeared,  and  presently  returned  at- 
tired in  a  heavy  mantle,  and  a  long  rapier  girded  to  his 
side. 

The  moon  was  high,  and  its  light,  which  whitened  the 
gables  of  the  houses,  diffused  a  bright  glimmer  below, 
sufficient  to  enable  Fawkes  to  proceed  quickly  upon  his 
way.  Frost  had  set  in,  and  a  keen  wind  blew ;  so  he  was 
glad  to  hurry  on  at  a  goodly  pace.  As  the  streets  were 
quite  deserted  at  this  early  hour  of  the  morning,  or 
haunted  only  by  those  whose  business — whether  for  good 
or  evil — forced  them  out  of  doors,  he  met  no  one  and  saw 
no  lights.  The  man's  mind  was  evidently  filled  with  pleas- 
ant thoughts,  for  ever  and  anon  a  smile  would  flit  across 
his  face,  as  though  he  dwelt  upon  the  surprised  look  of  his 
daughter  when  she  would  behold  him.  These  agreeable 
anticipations,  which  had  taken  the  place  for  the  moment 
of  the  sterner  purposes  which  had  of  late  engrossed  him, 
were  only  thrust  out  by  something  which  happened  just 
then  and  brought  him  abruptly  to  himself. 

It  was  the  appearance  of  a  woman,  who  suddenly  issued 
from  an  alley  a  score  of  yards  in  front  of  him,  and  with  a 
quick  glance  over  her  shoulder,  disappeared  down  an- 
other turn  in  the  road.  The  movements  of  this  appari- 
tion caused  Fawkes  to  pause,  when  suddenly  a  second 
figure,  this  time  a  man,  came  into  view  and  hurried  in  the 
direction  taken  by  the  girl.  "By  my  hilt,"  whispered 
Fawkes,  peering  cautiously  out  of  the  shadow  in  which 
he  stood,  "that  rogue  had  a  most  suspicious  air  about 
him;  an  honest  man  walks  with  more  noise;  but,  by  my 
soul!  if  there  is  not  a  third!" 

The  object  which  had  called  forth  the  last  remark  was 


WHAT   THE    MOON    SAW.  Ill 

still  another  figure,  which  came  from  the  same  quarter, 
and  proceeded  in  the  direction  taken  by  the  first  two. 
"What  queer  business  is  now  afoot?"  Fawkes  ex- 
claimed, gazing  after  the  retreating  forms.  "Mayhap  ere 
long  a  trusty  blade  will  not  be  amiss.  I  can  well  afford 
a  few  moments  to  see  that  all  be  fair." 

So  saying,  and  loosening  his  sword  in  its  scabbard  to 
make  sure  it  was  free  if  suddenly  needed,  he  swiftly 
passed  in  the  direction  taken  by  the  retreating  figures. 
A  few  steps  brought  him  to  the  head  of  the  street  down 
which  the  three  had  disappeared.  By  the  light  of  the 
moon  Fawkes  distinctly  saw  the  shadowy  forms,  and  halt- 
ing where  he  stood,  watched  their  movements. 

The  girl  was  well  in  advance;  the  second  person,  hurry- 
ing after.  The  last  of  the  two  crossed  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  way  and  walked  well  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the 
gables  of  the  houses.  The  girl  cast  a  glance  over  her 
shoulder  as  if  feeling  the  presence  of  one  in  pursuit,  but 
evidently  finding  herself  quite  alone,  slackened  her  pace 
to  take  breath.  Now,  the  one  nearest  her  made  a  strange 
move,  if  so  be  he  were  bent  upon  an  honest  mission ;  for 
as  soon  as  the  woman  reduced  her  gait  to  a  walk,  the  man 
loosened  the  long  cloak  hanging  about  his  shoulders, 
and  seizing  it  in  both  hands,  moved  swiftly  and  noise- 
lessly in  her  direction.  Aye,  loose  thy  sword  in  its 
sheath,  thou,  standing  in  the  shadow;  for  if  there  be  in 
thee  muscle  for  a  fight,  soon  will  the  clash  of  steel  ring 
out  upon  the  frosty  air. 

The  man  was  now  up  with  the  girl,  who,  on  hearing 
footsteps,  turned  and  uttered  a  scream.  Once  only  does 
she  raise  the  cry,  for  before  she  can  a  second  time  call  out, 
the  cloak  is  thrown  over  her  head,  a  rough  hand  is  at  her 
throat,  and  she  feels  the  pressure  of  a  rope  as  it  is  deftly 


112  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

whipped  about  her.  There  was  a  momentary  struggle; 
but  it  soon  ceased,  for  the  woman  fainted,  and  was  at  the 
mercy  of  him  who  had  trapped  her.  Is  thy  sword  caught 
and  useless?  thy  arm  paralyzed?  or  what  causes  thee  to 
stand  unnerved  and  trembling?  Was  it  the  scream  that 
rang  out  upon  the  midnight  air?  Had  it  the  sound  of  a 
voice  dear  to  thee  even  now? 

The  man  lifted  the  light  figure  of  the  girl  within  his 
arms  and  hurried  away.  Aye,  Effingston,  heaven-sent 
was  the  sorrow  which  drove  thee  forth  to  seek  solace 
from  the  night  and  stars;  but,  come,  now  is  thy  time! 

Fear  not  for  him — he  has  recovered  himself — and, 
snatching  his  rapier  from  its  sheath,  with  one  or  two 
quick  bounds  is  up  with  the  man,  crying:  "By  the  God 
above  thee,  release  the  woman  ere  I  crush  thy  head,  thou 
adder!" 

The  one  thus  addressed  turned,  and  seeing  the  deter- 
mined face  at  his  elbow,  paused,  but  retained  his  grasp 
upon  the  girl. 

"Release  her!"  exclaimed  Effingston,  raising  his  sword, 
"ere  I  spit  thee."  The  man  allowed  his  burden  to  slip  to 
the  ground,  the  cloak  fell  from  about  her  figure,  and 
Elinor  lay  at  the  feet  of  him  she  loved. 

"Thou  art  quick  with  thy  command,  Master,"  replied 
the  other,  coolly  drawing  his  rapier.  "Methinks  thou 
hadst  better  attend  to  love  affairs  of  thine  own,  rather 
than  meddle  in  that  with  which  thou  hast  no  concern. 
Put  up  thy  blade,  I  say,  and  go  about  thy  business,  ere  I 
teach  thee  a  trick  or  two  which  will  let  more  ardor  out  of 
thy  body  than  a  three  days'  diet  of  beef  can  replace." 

"Thou  knave!"  Effingston  exclaimed,  casting  a  quick 
glance  at  the  motionless  figure  upon  the  ground,  and 
pointing  toward  it  with  his  rapier.  "Dost  call  thyself  a 


WHAT    THE    MOON    SAW.  "3 

man,  to  steal  behind  and  deal  foul  blows?  Verily,  thou 
craven  dog,  'tis  written  in  thy  countenance,  and  he  who 
runs  may  read,  that  thou  hast  not  the  courage  even  to 
look  a  woman  in  the  eye,  much  less  to  face  a  man  in 
honest  fight." 

"I'll  hear  no  more  of  thy  speech,"  cried  the  now  angry 
man,  leaping  meanwhile  to  the  middle  of  the  road ;  "soon 
will  I  put  holes  in  thy  genteel  carcass  which  will  leave 
thy  vitals  cold  for  some  time  to  come.  Up  with  thy 
sword,  if  thy  bravery  be  not  all  talk."  He  unfastened 
his  leather  jerkin  and  stood  awaiting  Effingston,  who 
loosened  the  clasp  of  his  mantle. 

"By  my  troth,"  exclaimed  Fawkes,  who  still  retained 
his  post  of  vantage;  "I  swear  'tis  not  my  place  to  inter- 
fere; likely  it  will  be  a  lusty  fight,  for  both  seem  to  have 
the  proper  spirit,  and  hold  the  weapon  as  those  accus- 
tomed to  the  steel.  Marry!  it  must  be  difficult  to  see  the 
eyes  in  this  light,  but  the  point  will  be  more  readily  kept 
track  of." 

The  combatants  crossed  swords  and  stood  at  guard. 

"If  thou  hast  any  friend  to  claim  thy  body,  better  write 
his  name,"  said  the  man  in  the  leather  jerkin,  as  Effing- 
ston's  blade  touched  his  lightly,  emitting  a  grating  sound. 

The  only  answer  was  a  swift  lunge,  dexterously  parried. 

Not  three  blows  were  exchanged  before  Effingston 
realized  that  the  man  before  him  not  only  possessed  the 
skill  of  one  long  used  to  sword  play,  but,  further,  com- 
bined with  it  the  coolness  and  the  keen  eye  of  an  old 
duelist.  Moreover,  the  neutral  tint  of  his  adversary's 
dress  offered  but  a  poor  mark  by  which  to  gauge  his 
thrust,  while  his  own  costume,  being  ornamented  with 
silver,  gave  his  antagonist  most  effective  guidance  where- 
by to  aim  his  strokes. 


114  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

The  other,  also,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  no  mere 
novice  stood  before  him,  for  Effingston  had  turned  every 
thrust  with  an  ease  which  surprised  him;  and  several 
times  his  sword  had  crept  so  closely  to  the  leather  jerkin 
that  three  or  four  brown  furrows  had  appeared  upon  it. 

"Enough  of  this  child's  play,"  Effingston's  antagonist 
hissed  between  his  teeth,  making  another  furious  lunge. 
The  impetus  given  to  the  thrust  would  have  sent  the  blade 
to  the  hilt  into  the  other's  body  had  it  come  in  contact 
with  it,  but  Effingston  met  the  blow  in  a  way  least  ex- 
pected, making  use  of  a  trick  but  little  known  in  England 
at  that  time,  for  as  quickly  as  the  sword  flew  forward  he 
stepped  lightly  aside,  at  the  same  time  advancing  his 
own  weapon.  The  hilts  came  together  with  a  crash; 
the  guard  of  one  was  entangled  in  the  bell  of  the  other, 
and  the  two  rapiers  remained  firmly  interlocked.  The 
men  now  stood  so  closely  that  their  breasts  touched,  the 
breath  issuing  from  their  parted  lips  mingling  in  clouds. 
Suddenly,  almost  simultaneously,  as  if  one  read  the  in- 
tent in  the  other's  eye,  each  slowly  moved  his  left  arm  to 
his  side,  seeking  the  dagger  he  knew  hung  there.  Again, 
on  the  same  instant,  the  knives  flashed  forth;  the  men 
sprang  quickly  apart;  the  two  rapiers  went  spinning  on 
the  roadway,  and  with  a  clatter,  became  disentangled  as 
they  fell.  No  time  for  breath;  each  knows  it  is  to  the 
death,  and  plenty  of  rest  awaits  one  or  both,  perchance, 
in  a  few  moments.  The  men  leaped  toward  each  other; 
a  confused  struggle  ensued.  Fawkes  from  his  post  could 
illy  make  out  who  had  the  advantage.  Suddenly,  Ef- 
fingston's foot  slipped,  he  was  almost  upon  his  knees — 
the  man  was  upon  him,  one  hand  gripped  his  shoulder, 
forcing  him  to  the  ground,  the  other  held  the  knife  lifted 
high  to  add  force  to  the  blow;  but  that  coveted  strength 


WHAT   THE    MOON    SAW.  115 

cost  him  his  life,  for  before  the  hand  could  descend,  Ef- 
fingston  quickly  raised  his  dagger,  and  drove  it  with  all 
his  might  up  to  the  guard  in  the  neck  left  unprotected  by 
his  adversary's  movement.  The  man  clutched  at  the 
figure  before  him,  the  blade  flew  from  his  grasp  and  he 
dropped  with  a  bubbling  cry  to  the  earth,  the  blood 
spurting  from  him  as  he  fell. 

"Marry!"  exclaimed  Fawkes,  who  through  all  the  con- 
test had  been  craning  his  neck  and  breathing  hard  with 
excitement,  "that  was  a  brave  device  but  not  one  which  I 
should  care  to  try  myself.  By  the  Apostle  Paul!"  added 
he  in  surprise  on  hearing  the  bell  of  a  distant  church 
strike  the  hour,  "it  is  three  o'clock,  and  here  am  I  watch- 
ing two  gentlemen,  whose  faces  I  cannot  even  see,  settle 
a  little  difficulty  about  a  woman.  But  'twas  a  lusty  fight, 
and  for  the  moment  made  me  forget  the  errand  which 
called  me  forth."  Saying  which  and  with  another  glance 
down  the  road,  he  started  upon  his  way. 

The  victor  stood  regarding  his  foe,  who  made  one  or 
two  convulsive  movements  as  if  to  arise,  but  fell  back 
with  the  blood  spouting  from  the  wound  and  out  his 
mouth.  One  more  struggling  effort  he  makes,  but  'tis 
the  last ;  with  a  violent  convulsion  of  his  whole  body  the 
man  in  the  leather  jerkin  sinks  to  the  earth  to  rise  no 
more. 

Effingston  turned  to  the  second  figure  lying  upon  the 
roadway,  and  as  he  gazed  upon  her,  there  was  expressed 
on  his  countenance  a  certain  degree  of  contempt,  but, 
withal,  a  love  which  pride  and  resolution  could  not  quite 
kill.  As  she  lies  there,  the  white  face  touched  by  the 
light  of  the  moon,  it  is  like  looking  upon  the  dead. 

"O  God,"  he  whispered,  as  he  suddenly  knelt  beside 
her,  taking  one  of  the  white  hands  within  his  own,  "would 


Ti6  THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER. 

that  she  had  died  before — before—  He  slowly  raised 

the  girl  in  his  arms;  then  convulsively  pressed  the  light 
figure  to  him,  and  letting  his  head  sink  upon  her  breast, 
sobbed  as  only  a  strong  man  can. 

Again  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  rattle  of 
ice-covered  twigs  swept  from  the  trees  by  the  restless 
night  wind.  After  a  moment  he  regained  composure  and 
fell  to  chafing  her  hands. 

A  slight  motion  showed  him  the  girl  was  slowly  recov- 
ering from  her  long  swoon.  Gradually  consciousness  re- 
turned, and  lifting  her  head  from  the  cloak  he  had  placed 
beneath  it,  she  looked  about  in  a  confused  way  as  though 
unable  to  make  out  her  surroundings.  Soon  her  gaze 
rested  upon  Effingston,  who  had  drawn  a  little  apart. 
Raising  herself,  she  tottered  toward  him,  and  would  have 
fallen  had  he  not  put  an  arm  out  to  prevent  her. 

"What  could  have  made  thee  treat  me  so?"  she  whis- 
pered, passing  a  hand  across  her  face,  as  if  endeavoring 
to  brush  away  that  which  hindered  her  thoughts.  "Have 
I  not  suffered  enough?"  she  continued,  piteously. 

"I  was  not  thy  assailant,"  answered  Effingston,  mo- 
tioning to  the  figure  on  the  road;  "there  he  lieth;  thou 
canst  go  thy  way  in  peace." 

The  girl  glanced  in  the  direction  and  shuddered. 
"And  how  came  this  about?"  she  questioned,  in  a  dreamy 
tone,  casting  a  frightened  look  at  the  thing  in  the  path. 
"Oh,  now  I  do  recollect  me,"  added  she,  softly,  as  though 
to  herself,  seemingly  oblivious  of  her  surroundings.  "I 
had  left  Sir  Winter,  and  deeming  myself  quite  safe,  was 
hurrying  home,  when — for  truth,  I  can  remember  no 
more  until  I  found  thee  near  me."  She  ceased  and 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  an  innocent  smile.  Evi- 
dently the  terrible  strain  to  which  her  mind  had  been  sub- 


WHAT    THE    MOON    SAW.  "7 

jected  effaced  from  it  all  previous  impressions,  or  left 
only  an  indistinct  recollection  of  what  had  transpired. 
"It  was  brave  of  thee,"  she  murmured,  in  the  same 
dreamy  tone,  placing  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

At  the  name  of  Winter,  Effingston  drew  back.  Had 
she  not  by  those  unguarded  words  confirmed  her  guilt? 
All  his  pride  and  anger  returned.  The  resolutions  which 
had  but  a  moment  since  departed,  banished  by  that  help- 
less figure  in  the  moonlight,  now  came  again  with  greater 
strength.  Of  what  weakness,  he  asked  himself,  had  he 
been  guilty?  Of  kissing  the  lips  not  yet  cold  from  the 
caresses  of  him  who  had  defiled  them. 

"Very — brave — in — thee,"  the  girl  repeated,  in  a  dull 
monotone. 

Effingston  glanced  at  her,  but  that  piteously  bewildered 
face  cannot  move  him,  and  he  coldly  answered : 

"  Tis  the  duty  of  every  gentleman  to  protect  the  life  of 
a  woman,  even  though  her  shame  be  public  talk." 

Evidently  the  girl  had  not  heard,  or  at  least  the  words 
made  no  impression  upon  her  brain,  for  she  nestled 
closely  to  him  like  a  frightened  child  seeking  protection. 

"Come,"  he  whispered.  She  obeyed  without  a  word. 
They  passed  upon  their  way  in  silence  and  at  last  reached 
her  dwelling.  Effingston  opened  the  door  which  stood 
unbarred,  and  assisted  her  to  enter.  He  turned  to  go, 
not  trusting  himself  to  speak. 

"Thou  wert  not  always  accustomed  to  leave  me  thus," 
exclaimed  the  girl,  in  a  voice  destitute  of  expression. 
"See/'  she  continued,  "I  will  kiss  thee  even  without  thy 
asking,"  and  before  the  man  realized  her  intent,  she  threw 
her  arms  about  him  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his.  "They 
are  cold,"  she  murmured,  with  a  shiver.  "But  the  night 
is  chilly — look!  now  the  east  is  streaked  with  red."  Turn- 


Il8  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

ing,  she  pointed  to  the  sky,  dyed  with  the  crimson  light  of 
coming  day.  The  ruddy  glow  crept  up,  touching  the  girl 
and  turning  the  snow  at  her  feet  to  the  color  of  the  rose. 

"Come  to  me,  dear  'heart,"  she  whispered,  holding  out 
her  arms;  "take  me  to  thee,  that  on  thy  breast  I  may  find 
a  sweet  and  dreamless  sleep." 

The  sun  arose;  but  upon  no  sadder  sight  than  this 
man,  who  plodded  wearily  homeward — warring  forces 
within,  and  a  desert  all  about.  On  his  way  through  the 
silent  streets,  made  more  desolate  by  the  cheerless  light 
of  coming  day,  he  saw  for  a  moment  a  mirage  of  an  hon- 
orable love  and  happiness.  In  the  fair  city  of  his  dream 
he  beheld  a  bright  and  happy  home,  made  so  and  adorned 
by  the  girl  whose  kiss  was  still  upon  his  lips.  There,  al- 
ways awaited  him  a  heart  which,  through  its  love,  added 
to  each  blessing,  and  dulled  every  sorrow.  Ever  on  the 
portal  stood  a  being  he  worshiped,  who,  with  her  fair 
arms  wreathed  a  welcome  of  love  about  him.  They  pass 
within;  a  bright  face  offers  itself  for  a  kiss;  fondly  he 
stoops,  but  the  dream  vanishes; — in  the  breaking  of  the 
morn  he  stands  alone ; — hope  dead  within  his  breast. 


AT    "THE    SIGN    OF    THE    LEOPARD."        119 


CHAPTER   XIII. 
AT    "THE    SIGN    OF    THE    LEOPARD." 

Winter  waited  long  for  his  servant's  return.  He 
walked  restlessly  up  and  down  the  chamber,  ever  and 
anon  pausing,  either  for  recourse  to  the  flagon  on  the 
table,  or  to  draw  aside  the  curtains  and  gaze  out  upon 
the  street.  At  last,  sinking  into  a  chair  with  a  muttered 
curse  at  the  long  delay,  he  fell  into  deep  sleep,  overcome 
by  the  wine  in  which  he  had  so  freely  indulged.  Dawn 
broke  gray  and  cheerless.  The  first  rays  of  the  sun  pene- 
trated into  the  chamber  and  fell  upon  the  sleeper, — his 
position  was  unchanged  since  the  small  hours  of  the 
night.  Gradually,  as  the  light  increased,  he  stirred  un- 
easily, awoke,  and  rubbing  his  eyes,  looked  about  as 
though  not  sure  of  the  surroundings.  His  eye  rested 
upon  the  flagon,  then  slowly  traveled  toward  the  window. 
The  recollection  of  the  last  night,  however,  flashed  be- 
fore him,  and  springing  from  the  chair,  he  dashed  out  into 
the  corridor. 

"Richard!"  he  called.  No  answer  followed  his  sum- 
mons. 

"Richard,"  he  repeated,  in  a  still  louder  tone.  The 
only  response  was  the  echo  of  his  own  voice. 

"What  mad  business  be  this?"  exclaimed  he,  retracing 
his  steps  and  looking  wildly  about  the  apartment.  "By 
this  cursed  drink  have  I  brought  ruin  to  our  hopes  and 
cause.  Out  upon  thee,"  he  cried  in  a  transport  of  pas- 
sion, suddenly  seizing  the  flagon,  and  flinging  it  with  all 
his  might  across  the  room.  The  heavy  piece  of  metal 


120  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

struck  the  wall,  sending  out  a  deluge  of  wine,  and  falling 
with  a  crash,  shattered  into  fragments  an  ivory  crucifix 
resting  upon  a  small  table.  Winter  stood  aghast  at  the 
havoc  wrought. 

"An  omen,"  he  whispered,  white  to  the  lips,  glancing 
about  with  frightened  looks,  then  kneeling  to  take  up  the 
broken  cross. 

"See,"  he  cried,  holding  with  trembling  fingers  the 
image  of  the  crucified  Savior  which  had  escaped  the 
wreck,  and  now  dripped  with  wine; — "Christ's  wounds 
do  open  their  red  mouths  and  bleed  afresh  at  my  awful 
deeds."  The  man  arose,  crossed  himself,  and  thrust  the 
image  into  his  doublet,  then  wiping  the  sweat  from  his 
brow  sank  into  a  chair. 

'  'Tis  not  by  these  tremblings,  or  vain  regrets,  that 
I  may  fortify  myself,  or  mend  what's  done,"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  must  bethink  me,  and  let  reason  check  the  conse- 
quences of  my  folly.  The  girl  asseverated  that  she  heard 
all  which  transpired  at  her  house  last  night.  Oh,  most 
unfortunate  chance  which  gave  the  words  into  her  ear! 
What  foul  fiend  did  raise  the  cup  to  my  lips  and  leave  my 
wit  too  weak  to  turn  the  deadly  stroke?  Nay,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  several  moments,  shaking  his  head,  "she'll 
not  make  known  the  purport  of  our  speech,  for  the  love 
she  bears  her  father  is  a  potent  hostage  for  her  silence, 
and  if  I  be  judge,  Mistress  Elinor  will  make  scant  mention 
of  her  visit  yesternight.  Even  if  there  be  small  love  in 
her  heart  for  me,  a  most  wholesome  fear  doth  take  its 
place,  and  for  my  present  purpose  one  will  serve  as  fit- 
tingly as  the  other.  Marry,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile, 
seemingly  relieved  by  his  reflections,  "thy  ready  wit  hath 
at  last  returned;  but  by  St.  Paul!  what  hath  become  of 
that  varlet  Richard?  Tis  more  than  likely  the  open  door 


AT    "THE    SIGN    OF    THE    LEOPARD."         121 

of  some  pot  house  spoke  more  strongly  to  him  than  my 
command,  and  'tis  most  providential  if  my  surmise  be 
true;  I  must  have  been  mad  indeed  to  trust  the  rogue  on 
such  a  mission.  Small  doubt  but  that  he  heard  all  which 
transpired  here  last  night,  for  he  hath  a  most  willing  ear 
to  listen,  and  a  tongue  given  to  wag.  'Twould  be  a 
heaven-sent  deed  if  something  would  occur  to  silence  his 
speech,  for  his  knowledge,  if  he  hath  the  wit  to  know 
its  value,  may  be  a  deadly  menace  to  our  cause.  When 
he  returns  I'll  give  the  knave  silver  to  quit  the  country; 
or,  perchance,"  he  added,  a  hard,  cunning  look  coming 
into  his  eyes  as  he  put  his  hand  upon  a  small  dagger  at 
his  side,  "if  that  will  not  suffice,  'twill  be  necessary  for 
our  safety  to  introduce  him  to  more  sturdy  metal." 

The  man  arose  and  proceeded  to  efface  the  marks  of 
dissipation,  and  set  his  disordered  dress  to  rights,  saying 
as  he  finished,  "I  must  to  my  appointment  with  Garnet. 
Marry,"  he  added,  donning  hat  and  mantle,  "I  hope  he 
is  safely  housed,  and  that  my  letter  to  Giles  Martin,  which 
the  worthy  prelate  was  to  present,  did  insure  him  some 
extra  attention,  as  a  pot  house,  at  its  best,  must  be  a 
poor  refuge  for  a  priest." 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  and  few  people  were  astir. 

"Gramercy,"  quoth  Winter,  when  he  had  proceeded 
some  distance  on  his  way,  "would  that  some  person  were 
abroad  that  I  might  enquire  the  direction  to  The  Sign 
of  the  Leopard;'  I  swear,"  he  added,  glancing  about,  "it 
must  be  in  this  neighborhood,  but  I  can  illy  guess  where." 
Looking,  he  perceived  a  group  of  men  a  little  distance 
down  the  street.  "There  be  some  worthies,"  exclaimed 
he,  "who  can  perhaps  direct  me  to  the  hostelry."  As  he 
approached  he  saw  they  were  regarding  a  figure  lying 
upon  the  ground. 

9 


122  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"Nay,  Master  Alyn,"  said  one,  "thou  ha'dst  best  do 
naught  but  let  it  await  removal  by  the  King's  guard;  if 
thou  disturb  the  body  surely  questions  might  be  asked 
which  'twould  bother  thy  head  to  answer." 

"Beshrew  my  heart,"  exclaimed  the  man  addressed, 
who,  judging  from  his  appearance,  was  a  small  trades- 
man, "I  can  ill  afford  to  have  this  evil  thing  lying  upon 
my  step,  preventing  what  little  trade  might  drift  this 
way." 

Winter  now  came  up  with  the  group,  and  as  they 
turned  at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  he  could  see  that 
the  object  of  their  remarks  was  a  man  lying  face  down- 
ward on  the  flagging,  and  his  attitude  of  relaxation 
showed  that  death  had  overtaken  him. 

"What  hast  thou  here,  my  men?"  Sir  Thomas  ex- 
claimed, "some  victim  of  a  drunken  brawl?" 

"That  we  cannot  make  out/'  answered  the  first  speaker, 
touching  his  hat,  on  perceiving — by  his  dress  and  man- 
ner— that  the  questioner  was  a  gentleman,  possibly  one 
in  authority,  "but  for  truth,  he  has  been  stuck  as  pretty 
as  a  boar  at  Yule-tide.  Thou  mayst  look  for  thyself," 
he  added,  with  some  little  pride,  as  of  a  showman  exhibit- 
ing his  stock,  and  laying  hold  of  the  body  by  the  shoul- 
ders he  turned  it  over,  so  that  the  distorted  face  gazed  up 
at  the  sky. 

Winter  started  at  the  sight,  unable  to  repress  a  cry,  for 
before  him  was  the  body  of  his  servant.  His  wish  had 
indeed  been  fulfilled;  those  silent  lips  would  tell  no  tales. 

"What,  good  sir!"  cried  he  who  seemed  to  be  the 
spokesman  of  the  party,  on  noting  the  white  face  of  the 
other;  "doth  thy  stomach  turn  so  readily?" 

"Nay,"  replied  Winter,  raising  a  gauntlet  to  hide  his 
emotion,  "but  they  who  meet  death  suddenly  are  seldom 


AT    "THE    SIGN    OF    THE    LEOPARD."        123 

sweet  to  look  upon,  and — and — for  truth,  I  have  not  yet 
broke  my  fast;  canst  direct  me  to  a  certain  hostelry  in 
this  neighborhood  known  as  'The  Sign  of  the  Leop- 
ard?' " 

"I  can,  Master,  for  many  a  pot  of  ale  I've  drank  in  that 
same  place.  Look,"  he  continued,  pointing,  "if  thou 
wilt  follow  this  street  until  the  second  turning  to  the 
right,  from  there  thou  canst  readily  see  the  tavern's  sign." 

"My  thanks  to  thee,"  said  Winter,  taking  a  coin  from 
his  purse  and  handing  it  to  the  man.  His  eyes  again  for 
a  moment  turned  upon  the  prostrate  figure.  "And  my 
friends,"  added  he,  "I  would  deem  it  expedient  that  ye 
notify  the  guards,  and  have  this  unsightly  thing  re- 
moved." He  then  turned  and  proceeded  in  the  direction 
given  him.  This  incident  brought  a  renewal  of  the  ap- 
prehensions which  had  haunted  him  earlier  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  he  muttered  as  he  went  on  his  way:  "There  is 
the  first  consequence  of  my  folly,  and  the  next  may  be 
— nay,  courage;  heaven  will  not  be  so  merciless  as  to 
permit  one  evil  deed  to  overthrow  our  cause.  God  will 
pardon  this  hasty  sin,  when  he  who  committed  it  doth 
risk  life  in  His  holy  work.  But,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
"  'tis  providential  justice  which  slew  the  man,  for  the  dead 
utter  no  words."  At  last  he  arrived  before  the  house 
which  he  sought.  "Marry,"  he  exclaimed,  gazing  at  the 
exterior  of  the  tavern ;  "  'tis  indeed  a  sorry  place  for  the 
saintly  Garnet  to  reside  in,  but  it  has  the  advantage  of 
being  a  secure  retreat."  He  tried  the  door,  which  yielded 
to  his  touch,  and  entered  the  apartment.  On  the  tables 
stood  the  remains  of  last  night's  libations,  and  the  air 
hung  heavy  with  the  odor  of  stale  tobacco  smoke.  Over 
all  was  a  spell  of  silent  desolation,  as  if  the  ghosts  of 
the  songs  and  merry  jests,  which  had  echoed  from  the 

9 


124  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

walls,  had  returned  with  aching  heads  to  curse  the  room. 

"This  is  a  sweet  place,  truly,"  said  Winter,  looking 
upon  the  table.  After  a  short  delay  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps could  be  heard  approaching,  a  door  opened  and  the 
host  entered.  Giles  Martin,  not  at  once  recognizing  the 
man  who  stood  by  the  table,  regarded  his  guest  with  some 
little  surprise,  for  a  customer  at  that  early  hour  was  rare. 

"To  what  may  I  serve  thee,  sir?"  said  he,  advancing 
toward  Winter.  "Well,  Master  Martin,"  exclaimed  the 
one  addressed,  "dost  so  soon  forget  a  face?  It  is,  I 
swear,  a  poor  trick  for  a  landlord." 

"What,  Sir  Thomas?"  cried  the  other  in  surprise,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand,  "I  did  not  recognize  thee  in  this  un- 
certain light.  A  thousand  pardons,  and  highly  am  I 
honored  to  find  thee  in  my  humble  house." 

"  'Tis  but  small  honor  I  do  thee,"  replied  the  man,  with 
a  laugh,  drawing  off  his  gauntlets.  "Didst  receive  my 
letter?" 

"Aye,  that  I  did,  and  have  shown  the  bearer  of  it  every 
courtesy  which  this  poor  tavern  can  provide.  Much  am 
I  gratified  to  learn  that  Sir  Thomas  Winter  remembered 
one  whom  he  hath  not  seen  since 

"Nay,  good  Martin,  I  do  recall  the  time  thou  wouldst 
name.  But  pray  tell  me,  is  my  cavalier  friend  up  at  this 
early  hour,  for  I  would  confer  with  him." 

Giles  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  speaker,  then  letting 
his  eyes  fall,  said: 

"That  he  is,  and  little  hath  he  slept  this  night,  for 
'twas  late  ere  he  arrived,  and  when  I  arose  I  heard  him 
walking  about." 

"Then  wilt  thou  tell  him  I  await;  or — nay,  stop — thou 
needst  not  announce  me;  I  will  see  him  in  his  chamber. 
Show  the  way,  I  will  follow." 


AT    "THE    SIGN    OF    THE    LEOPARD."        125 

"As  thou  dost  wish,"  said  Giles,  turning  to  open  a  door 
which  hid  a  flight  of  rickety  stairs  leading  to  the  floor 
above.  Reaching  the  landing  Winter  noted  that  Martin 
was  about  to  follow  and  exclaimed : 

"Nay,  show  me  the  portal,  I  will  not  trouble  thee  fur- 
ther. And  if  thou  wilt  be  so  kind,  see  to  it  that  we  are 
not  disturbed  in  our  conversation." 

"Have  no  fear  for  that,  Sir  Thomas,  I  will  take  care 
that  none  do  interrupt.  The  room  is  in  front  of  thee," 
saying  which,  Martin  turned  and  descended  the  stairs. 

Winter  tapped  upon  the  panel. 

"Enter,"  said  a  quiet  voice. 

He  lifted  the  latch  and  passed  into  the  room.  The  prel- 
ate had  evidently  been  engaged  in  prayer,  for,  as  the 
other  stepped  within,  the  priest  was  arising  from  his 
knees.  His  face  seemed  in  strange  contrast  to  the  garb 
he  had  donned;  the  delicate,  almost  effeminate  features 
of  the  man  were  little  in  keeping  with  the  gay  attire  of  a 
cavalier. 

"Ah,  Sir  Thomas,"  exclaimed  the  Jesuit,  advancing 
with  gentle  dignity  and  extended  hand,  "glad  am  I  to  see 
thee,  for  I  have  been  more  than  lonely,  but,"  he  added, 
with  a  bright  smile,  "  'tis  not  my  nature  to  complain ; 
these  be  but  small  discomforts,  and  gladly  would  I  endure 
greater  in  the  service  of  my  Master.  Hast  any  news? 
Hath  aught  happened  since  we  met?  But  pray  be 
seated,"  he  added,  pointing  to  one  of  the  two  chairs, 
which,  with  a  low  bed,  comprised  the  furniture  of  the 
room. 

"Nay,  good  father,  nothing  hath  transpired,"  replied 
the  other,  a  shade  passing  athwart  his  face;  "and  now  tell 
me,  what  dost  thou  think  of  Fawkes?  Is  his  enthusiasm 
great  enough  to  serve  our  purpose?" 


126  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"A  most  terrible  man,  but  one  whose  cruelty  rests  upon 
the  love  of  God.  Indeed,  it  is  as  thou  didst  say,  if  each 
Catholic  in  England  were  possessed  of  but  one-half  his 
zeal,  then  would  the  gutters  run  red  with  the  blood  of 
heretics;  'twas  such  as  he  who  made  the  eve  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew. Are  we  free  to  speak ?".queried  Garnet,  lean- 
ing toward  the  other. 

"Quite  free,"  replied  Winter,  "a  faithful  friend  of  mine 
is  on  guard  that  we  be  not  interrupted." 

"Then,  'tis  well;  I  have  spent  the  night  in  prayer,  be- 
seeching the  Almighty  to  lead  my  mind  aright  that  I 
may  decide  the  justice  of  the  plan  proposed.  Ah,"  ex- 
claimed the  Jesuit,  arising,  and  with  hands  clenched  be- 
fore him,  "  'tis  a  hideous  act,  but,"  an  expression  of  fierce- 
ness coming  into  his  gentle  face,  "my  supplication  was 
answered,  the  deed  is  favored  by  God,  for  He  hath  sent 
me  a  token  of  His  approval." 

"A  token,  thou  sayest,  good  father?"  exclaimed  Winter 
in  an  awed  voice. 

"Verily,"  cried  Garnet,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  "a 
sign  from  Him  whose  cause  we  serve.  Twas  thus: 
Long  had  I  knelt  in  prayer,  long  had  I  raised  my  voice 
that  He  who  holds  the  oceans  in  His  palm,  and  guides  the 
planets  in  their  courses,  would  lead  me  to  a  wise  decision. 
'O  God,'  I  cried,  'send  thou  some  token  that  I  may  know 
thy  will.'  Even  as  I  gazed  upon  the  crucifix  clenched  in 
my  unlifted  hand,  the  message  I  so  craved  had  come,  for 
the  cross  was  stained  with  blood,  which  from  it  fell  in 
sluggish  drops.  I  looked  more  intently,  filled  with 
amazement,  and  perceived  that  so  closely  had  I  pressed 
the  silver  image  of  the  blessed  Savior  it  had  cut  into  the 
flesh.  But  'twas  God's  voice  in  answer  to  my  prayer." 

"Most  marvelous,"  whispered  Winter,  crossing  himself. 


AT    "TH-E    SIGN    OF    THE    LEOPARD."         127 

"But  didst  thou  comprehend  all  that  Fawkes  proposed? 
Hast  dwelt  on  every  point?" 

"Think  not,  my  son/'  the  prelate  answered,  "that  be- 
cause my  eyes  have  long  been  used  to  the  dim  light  of 
the  sanctuary,  they  have  not  perceived  all  the  horror  of 
that  which  must  be  done.  But  now,"  he  cried,  his  pale 
face  flushed  with  emotion,  "God  in  His  wisdom  hath  for 
a  time  taken  from  me  the  crucifix  and  given  in  its  place 
the  sword.  So  be  it,"  he  continued,  drawing  the  rapier 
hanging  by  his  side  and  kissing  the  cross  formed  by  the 
blade  and  handle,  "He  shall  not  find  Henry  Garnet  want- 
ing, for  not  until  the  Angelus  doth  sound  from  Landsend 
to  Dunnet  Head,  will  this  hand  of  mine  relax  its  hold, 
unless  death  doth  strike  the  weapon  from  it." 

"Ah,  good  father,"  cried  Winter  in  admiration  of  the 
other's  spirit,  "thy  enthusiasm  and  courage  are  surely 
heaven  born,  but,"  he  whispered,  "if  we  fail,  what  then?" 

"We  cannot,"  broke  in  the  Jesuit,  his  eyes  alight  with 
the  fervor  of  his  spirit.  "Have  I  not  told  thee  that  heaven 
approves  our  act?  Victory  belongs  to  us;  the  White 
Dove  doth  rest  upon  our  helms.  Tis  true  that  some  of 
us  may  perish,  but  what  of  them?  Their  fame  shall  live 
from  age  to  age,  and  never  will  the  call  to  Mass  or  Ves- 
pers sound,  never  will  the  clouds  of  incense  mount  up- 
ward— streaming  past  the  Host  without  their  names 
being  within  the  hearts  and  on  the  tongues  of  the  wor- 
shipers. Think  how  greatly  we  be  blessed,"  he  con- 
tinued, laying  his  hand  fondly  upon  the  other's  shoulder; 
— "a  few,  a  happy  few,  who  have  been  thus  elected  to 
raise  the  cross  of  Christ  from  out  the  dust.  Nay,"  he 
added,  shaking  his  head,  "I  would  not  wish  our  danger 
one  jot  or  tittle  less,  for,  methinks,  some  portion  of  the 
glory  which  is  now  our  own  might  depart  with  it,  and  I 


128  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

could  illy  bear  the  loss  of  even  one  small  gem  which  must 
rest  in  the  immortal  crown  of  our  recompense." 

"Then  thou  dost  feel  our  victory  is  assured,"  said 
Winter,  in  a  constrained  voice,  looking  anxiously  toward 
Garnet. 

"Nay,  I  do  not  feel — I  am  certain,"  replied  the  prelate, 
decisively.  "And  now  there  rests  with  us  the  duty  of 
forming  our  plans,  making  everything  ready  to  strike  the 
mighty  blow.  What  hast  thou  to  offer  or  suggest?" 

"Good  father,  I  would  not  take  upon  myself  to  offer 
a  suggestion,"  said  Winter;  "but  methinks  it  would  be 
well  that  we  all  assemble  and  discuss  the  matter  more 
fully." 

"And  where  shall  the  gathering  be  held? — at  the  house 
of  Master  Fawkes?" 

"Not  so,"  replied  the  other,  so  abruptly  that  the  priest 
turned  upon  him  an  enquiring  glance.  "I  mean,"  con- 
tinued Winter,  noting  the  look,  "  'twould  be  unwise  for 
us  to  be  seen  again  meeting  in  that  place ;  it  might  arouse 
curiosity,  and  that  might  be  fatal." 

"Then  what  wouldst  thou  say  to  my  Lord  Catesby's?" 

"Nay,  for  I  deem  the  same  objection  doth  apply  to  his 
dwelling.  I  would  suggest  we  gather  at  the  house  of 
Sir  Everard  Digby.  Will't  suit  thee,  father?" 

"I  think  thy  caution  most  commendable,  and  thy  prop- 
osition the  best.  And  when  shall  the  meeting  be?" 

"Say  a  week  hence,"  replied  Winter.  "In  the  mean- 
time I  will  see  Sir  Everard,  and  make  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements. But  what  of  thee  till  then?" 

"Disturb  not  thyself,  my  son,  concerning  me,"  replied 
the  prelate;  "I  will  content  myself,  and  be  right  com- 
fortable in  the  care  of  thy  friend  the  host.  Dost  think 
he  hath  suspicions?" 


AT  "THE   SIGN   OF  THE    LEOPARD."  I29 

"Nay,"  replied  the  other.  "In  truth,  if  his  suspicions 
were  aroused,  he  would  be  silent ;  such  poor  taste  hath  he, 
that  love  for  me  would  make  him  dumb,  and  with  it  is 
the  fact  that  the  man  is  a  zealous  Catholic;  methinks  if 
his  help  could  be  safely  won  he  would  be  most  valuable 
to  us.  Shouldst  thou  find  a  fitting  opportunity  it  might 
be  well  to  sound  the  man." 

"I  will  do  so,"  replied  the  prelate,  "if  a  chance  doth 
offer  itself." 

"And  now,"  continued  Winter,  rising,  "I  must  away. 
Be  ever  careful,  father,  for  thy  loss  would  signify  the  de- 
struction of  our  hopes." 

"My  son,"  answered  the  other,  with  a  smile,  "thou  dost 
speak  from  thy  heart;  but  methinks,  if  at  this  moment 
Henry  Garnet  were  dragged  away  and  hurried  toward  the 
block,  the  mighty  work  would  be  continued;  success  doth 
rest  in  higher  hands  than  mine.  Now,  until  we  meet 
again,  may  the  peace  of  Him  whose  servants  we  are  rest 
upon  thee." 


130  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 
IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   CROSS. 

Some  leagues  from  London,  in  the  shire  of  Bucking- 
ham, was  situated  the  country  residence  of  Sir  Everard 
Digsby,  who,  with  Catesby,  Wright  and  Percy,  was  pres- 
ent at  the  house  of  the  latter  on  the  night  in  which 
Fawkes  reached  the  city,  whither  he  had  been  summoned 
by  a  letter  from  Sir  Thomas  Winter.  The  dwelling  of 
the  young  nobleman,  being  somewhat  remote  from  the 
more  populous  districts  of  the  shire,  seemed  a  fitting 
place  for  such  discussion,  and,  perchance,  of  more 
weighty  matters,  pertaining  to  the  fast-growing  conspir- 
acy against  the  King  and  his  Parliament.  This  place 
Winter  had  suggested  to  Garnet  as  the  safest  spot  for 
the  Catholic  gentlemen  to  assemble  for  the  discussion  of 
their  plan. 

'Twas  the  custom  that  those  noblemen  whose  wealth 
afforded  them  two  dwellings,  one  in  London  and  another 
in  the  rural  districts,  should  oft  entertain  at  the  latter 
such  of  their  companions  as  pleased  them;  and  these, 
riding  forth  from  the  city,  singly  or  in  goodly  numbers, 
might  pass  but  a  single  night,  but  sometimes  when  occa- 
sion served,  a  fortnight,  in  merrymaking  at  their  host's 
expense.  Such  being  a  common  practice  throughout 
the  kingdom  little  danger  of  causing  suspicion  lay  in  the 
fact  that  Winter,  Rookwood,  Catesby,  Wright  and  such 
others  as  had  been  admitted  to  their  council,  departed 
from  London  in  company.  Garnet,  indeed,  had  ridden 
on  before  them,  attended  by  Sir  Digsby  and  Fawkes,  nor 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF  THE   CROSS.          I31 

had  any  noted  their  departure;  or,  if  perchance  they  did, 
were  not  disposed  to  comment  upon  it. 

A  staunch  Catholic  and  a  zealous  follower  of  the 
Jesuits,  Everard  Digsby  had  lent  himself  willingly  to  the 
cause  of  his  brother  churchmen,  having  long  ago  satis- 
fied himself  that  their  actions  were  justified.  In  fact,  his 
present  convictions  were  to  some  extent  the  outcome  of 
early  teachings,  for  even  at  a  tender  age  his  mind  had 
been  under  Catholic  influence,  and  therefore  it  was  not 
strange  that  on  reaching  manhood  he  should  be  a  strong 
adherent  of  Romish  doctrine.  And  still  further,  his  atti- 
tude was  less  to  be  wondered  at,  when  considered  that 
the  seeds  of  these  same  convictions  were  planted  by  no 
other  hand  than  the  friend,  tutor  and  spiritual  adviser  of 
his  youth — Henry  Garnet.  In  truth,  he  had  surpassed 
the  zeal  of  many  associates,  for  being  denied  the  full  privi- 
lege of  such  worship  as  his  faith  taught  him,  he  had 
caused  to  be  erected  within  the  walls  of  his  country  resi- 
dence a  small  chapel,  fitted  up  under  supervision  of  the 
Superior  of  the  English  Jesuits. 

Somewhat  early  in  the  evening  the  little  cavalcade  rode 
into  Buckinghamshire,  and  having  reached  their  destina- 
tion, were  received  with  much  cordiality  by  the  young 
nobleman  and  his  more  austere  companions.  The  ride 
from  London,  on  account  of  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather,  had  been  most  disagreeable,  and  the  travelers 
were  nothing  loth  to  stretch  their  chilled  limbs  before  the 
great  fire  prepared  in  readiness  for  their  arrival,  and  to 
partake  heartily  of  the  well  ordered  refreshments  which 
their  host  had  caused  to  be  in  waiting.  Having  satisfied 
the  carnal  man,  they  were  the  more  willing  to  turn  to  the 
spiritual  repast  which  had  drawn  them  together;  for  in 
each  mind  the  conviction  was  strong  that  in  plotting 


132  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

against  the  King  they  were  but  serving  the  ends  of  God. 

"Good  gentlemen,"  said  Garnet,  the  company  having 
drawn  about  the  fire  in  a  room  somewhat  remote  from 
the  more  inhabited  part  of  the  dwelling,  "having  partaken 
so  freely  of  worthy  Everard's  hospitality,  it  is  most  fit- 
ting that  we  turn  for  a  season  to  that  which  has  sum- 
moned us  from  London.  Methinks  there  be  none  ab- 
sent?" 

Catesby  ran  his  eyes  over  the  group  about  him,  check- 
ing each  off  on  his  fingers.  "Winter,  my  Lord  of  Rook- 
wood,  good  Percy,  Wright,  Francis  Tresham  and  Master 
Guido,"  said  he,  "these  with  Your  Reverence,  Sir  Ever- 
ard  and  myself,  make  up  the  number — nine." 

'  Tis  well,"  exclaimed  Garnet,  fixing  his  eyes  for  an 
instant  on  the  face  of  each.  "Certain  things  have  arisen 
which  render  it  most  expedient  that  we  make  common 
cause  with  each  other — what  think  ye?" 

"That  the  time  is  ripe  for  the  maturing  of  such  plans 
as  best  are  suited  to  our  purpose,"  replied  Rookwood; 
"James  hath  again  declared  against  us." 

'  'Tis  even  so,"  broke  in  Percy,  "and  at  the  house  of 
Master  Fawkes  when  thou  wert  absent,  there  arose  some 
discussion  as  to  certain  ways  and  methods  best  fitted 

"Ah!"  cried  Winter,  looking  toward  the  corner  where 
was  seated  the  soldier  of  fortune,  with  his  chin  upon  his 
hand;  "the  opportunity  has  not  served  since  our  last 
meeting  to  inquire  concerning  thy  good  mother  and  thy 
daughter,  friend  Guido.  Tell  me,  I  pray,  did  the  gather- 
ing of  so  many  armed  men  in  thy  chamber  disturb  their 
slumbers?" 

"Nay,"  replied  Fawkes,  gruffly ;  "the  dame  knew  noth- 
ing of  it;  neither  my  daughter,  of  that " 


IN   THE   SHADOW    OF   THE    CROSS.  133 

"And  the  lass,"  continued  Winter,  eyeing  the  man 
closely,  "is  she  well  and  cheerful  as  becomes  her  youth 
and  loveliness?" 

"As  to  cheerfulness,"  answered  the  other,  a  shade  of 
sadness  coming  into  his  face,  "methinks  the  merry  smile 
hath  forever  forsaken  her  lips,  for  now  she  looketh  so 
pale  and  wan  it  doth  seem  but  the  shadow  of  her  former 
self  wandering  about  the  house;  but  thank  God,  the  worst 
is  over,  and  she  is  on  the  road  to  recovery." 

"And  hath  Mistress  Elinor  been  ill?"  inquired  Winter, 
turning  a  surprised  look  toward  the  speaker. 

"I  had  deemed,"  answered  Fawkes,  "that  my  absence 
from  thy  house  for  nigh  on  to  a  week  would  indicate  to 

thee  that  something  was  amiss.     I  every  day  expected 
^.^         » 

"For  truth,"  broke  in  the  other  in  a  relieved  tone,  "had 
I  known  that  thy  daughter  lay  ill  I  would  for  a  surety 
have  called.  But,  pray,  tell  me;  is  she  better  now?" 

"As  I  have  said,  she  is  better;  but  not  herself  as  yet. 
In  fact,  it  was  on  the  night  of  the  meeting  at  my  dwelling, 
after  ye  had  all  departed,  that  I  went  for  a  breath  of  air 
upon  the  street  and — and — well,  it  was  when  I  returned 
that  I  found  the  girl  in  a  high  fever,  and  looking  much 
as  though  she  had  beheld  a  foe.  The  fever  spent  itself  in 
three  days;  now,  'tis  but  the  after  weakness  which  afflicts 
her." 

"Thank  God  for  her  recovery!"  exclaimed  Winter,  as 
he  eyed  Fawkes  narrowly;  but  finding  nothing  in  his 
countenance  to  arouse  alarm,  sank  back  in  his  chair  with 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

"And  now,"  said  Garnet,  who  had  listened  with  atten- 
tion to  the  dialogue,  "since  thy  last  words  have  banished 
from  my  mind  the  anxiety  called  forth  by  the  recital  of 


134  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

thy  fair  daughter's  illness,  we  may  again  turn  our 
thoughts  toward  other  matters,  and  listen  to  good  Catesby 
here." 

"As  thou  knowest,"  began  Catesby,  "it  hath  ever  been 
my  desire  to  act  quickly.  Therefore  I  would  suggest  that 
no  time  be  lost  in  carrying  out  such  designs  as  will  rid 
the  kingdom  of  our  enemies." 

"Well  spoken,"  cried  Digsby;  "to  that  we  are  agreed." 

Garnet  smiled  sadly.  "Would  that  all  England  cried 
amen!"  said  he,  solemnly.  Then  turning  suddenly  to 
Fawkes,  "and  thou,  Master  Guido,  what  sayest  thou?" 

The  soldier  of  fortune  looked  up  quickly.  "I  am  ever 
ready,"  said  he,  "whether  we  deal  with  all  those  in  au- 
thority, or  with  the  King  alone." 

"Then?"  cried  Winter,  "then? " 

Garnet  cast  down  his  eyes,  the  soul  of  the  priest  strug- 
gling with  dark  apprehensions  which  arose  within  him. 
"If  there  were  any  shadow  of  sin  in  it,"  he  murmured, 
"I  would  not  countenance  the  bringing  of  it  to  an  issue. 
No  other  reason  hath  drawn  me  into  it  save  ardent  and 
active  interest  in  the  cause  of  God."  Then  facing  his 
companions  he  continued:  "  'Tis  the  will  of  Christ  that 
in  the  hands  of  His  weakest  subjects  shall  be  placed  the 
sword  of  vengeance  which  shall  sweep  these  infidels  from 
the  land.  Good  Catesby  hath  oft  pondered  in  his  mind, 
with  some  impatience,  the  meaning  of  my  check  upon  his 
zeal.  'Twas  that  I  might  seek  through  prayer  a  way  to 
our  deliverance.  That  the  time  is  near  a  revelation  hath 
been  vouchsafed  to  me  from  heaven." 

A  murmur  ran  through  the  little  company.  The 
priest's  voice  changed  from  tones  of  solemnity  to  those 
of  one  who  spake  with  authority;  and  stretching  forth 
the  hand,  he  said:  "We  are  of  one  mind.  Perchance 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF  THE    CROSS.  135 

Master  Fawkes  hath  opened  a  way  whereby  shall  be  de- 
stroyed both  the  King  and  his  Parliament.  What  can 
effect  our  purpose  quicker  than  the  flash  of  gunpowder? 
God  hath  placed  it  in  our  hand  for  us  to  use,  and  do  His 
will.  Yet  other  things  remain;  the  door  being  opened, 
will  those  who  watch  us  from  abroad  unite  with  us  in  re- 
storing to  this  unhappy  England  its  altars  and  ks  sacri- 
fices? Sir  Thomas  Winter,  thou  hast  been  in  France  and 
Spain  to  do  man's  bidding;  wouldst  go  thither  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  will  of  God?" 

Winter  started,  for  the  meaning  of  the  other's  words 
implied  much.  "Is  it  a  mission?"  he  asked,  fixing  his 
gaze  upon  the  Jesuit. 

"Aye!"  replied  Garnet;  "a  mission  of  much  danger, 
and  one  which  will  need  all  secrecy.  At  the  Court  of 
France  dwell  certain  members  of  my  Order,  close  to  the 
King,  and  deep  in  affairs  of  State.  Before  them  I  will 
lay  our  undertaking,  that  when  England  shall  be  without 
a  government  and  all  the  land  involved  in  perplexity  and 
beset  with  controversies,  the  armies  of  the  Catholic 
Kings  may  come  among  us — the  way  being  prepared  for 
their  entrance." 

A  murmur  of  approval  burst  from  Catesby,  Rookwood 
and  Percy.  "And  if  Sir  Winter  hesitates,"  cried  the  for- 
mer, "I  will " 

"Say  no  more,"  interrupted  Winter;  "this  day  week 
will  see  me  at  the  Court  of  France." 

"And  thou,  friend  Guido,"  said  Garnet,  blandly,  "thou 
art  of  ready  wit,  and  a  good  sword  may  be  needful.  Shall 
brave  Winter  go  alone?" 

Fawkes  knitted  his  brows — "I  little  thought  to  again 
leave  England  so  soon,"  he  replied,  gruffly;  "yet  ere 
another  sunset  will  I  be  ready  if  thus  I  may  serve  the 
cause." 


136  THE  FIFTH  OF  NOVEMBER. 

A  look  of  kindliness  came  into  the  Jesuit's  eyes;  the 
blind  zeal  of  the  man,  a  zeal  that  thrust  all  other  thoughts 
aside,  touched  him,  and  with  quick  perception  he  saw  in 
the  rough  cavalier  one  who,  did  all  others  fail,  would 
with  his  single  hand  hurl  the  thunderbolt.  Taking  from 
his  bosom  a  small  silver  crucifix,  he  laid  it  in  Fawkes' 
hand.  "Give  this,"  said  he,  quietly,  "unto  thy  daughter; 
'twill  guard  her  during  thine  absence.  Aye!  and  dost 
thou  fear  to  leave  her?  I  swear  to  thee,  I  will  see  to  it 
that  she  lacketh  nothing." 

Fawkes  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  deep  devotion. 
Bred  in  superstition,  the  fact  that  the  priest  understood 
that  which  troubled  him — fear  for  the  safety  of  his 
daughter — seemed  a  sign  from  heaven.  He  kissed  the 
crucifix  reverently,  and  put  it  in  his  bosom  between  the 
hard  steel  of  his  cuirass  and  his  heart. 

Garnet  turned  to  the  group.  "One  thing  remains," 
said  he  solemnly;  "  'tis  the  oath  which,  registered  before 
heaven,  shall  hold  each  to  his  purpose.  Sir  Digsby,  let 
us  to  thy  chapel,  that  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  cross  we 
may  seek  that  blessing  without  which  all  our  deeds  are 
sinful,  and  our  purposes  as  sand." 

Solemnly  the  little  company,  headed  by  the  priest  and 
Sir  Everard,  wended  their  way  toward  the  chapel.  No 
words  were  exchanged  between  them,  for  all  were  deep 
in  thought.  As  they  passed  into  the  chamber  set  aside 
for  worship,  each  reverently  knelt  and  crossed  himself, 
then  took  up  a  position  in  front  of  the  altar.  As  it  was 
late  and  the  brief  winter  twilight  faded  from  the  sky,  the 
chapel  lay  shrouded  in  deep  gloom,  relieved  only  by  the 
red  light  burning  in  a  hanging  lamp  suspended  before 
the  tabernacle,  holding  the  consecrated  elements.  To 
the  men  there  was  something  fearfully  solemn  in  their 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF  THE   CROSS.          137 

surroundings.  Before  them  stood  that  altar  for  the 
preservation  of  which  they  were  about  to  pledge  their 
lives. 

As  their  eyes  became  more  accustomed  to  the  subdued 
light,  they  beheld  shadow-like  forms  slowly  appear  upon 
the  walls,  and  while  intently  gazing,  these  apparitions 
gradually  materialized  and  assumed  definite  shape,  re- 
solving themselves  into  paintings  portraying  the  last 
scenes  in  the  life  of  Christ.  Penetrating  everything  was 
the  clinging  odor  of  incense,  which,  in  some  subtle  way, 
brings  to  mind  the  awful  majesty  of  God. 

Presently  Garnet  emerged  from  the  sacristy,  bearing  in 
his  hand  a  flaming  taper  with  which  he  lighted  the 
candles  on  the  altar.  The  Jesuit  had  placed  over  the 
costume  which  he  wore  a  cope  of  deep  red,  richly  em- 
broidered with  gold,  and  evidently  the  priest  had  not 
even  laid  aside  his  rapier,  for  its  dull  clank  could  be  heard 
as  he  walked  about.  The  rattle  of  the  steel  broke  dis- 
cordantly upon  the  deep  silence,  but  was  it  not  symbolic? 
A  deed  of  violence  was  about  to  be  committed,  cloaked 
in  the  garb  of  religion! 

Finishing  his  task,  he  knelt  before  the  altar  in  silent 
prayer.  Then  arising,  he  passed  to  the  gate  of  the  rood 
screen,  where  his  commanding  figure  was  thrown  into 
bold  relief  by  the  altar  lights.  Presently  seating  himself, 
he  said  in  low  and  solemn  tones  to  the  men  kneeling  in 
the  darkness:  "Consider  well,  my  brethren,  the  step  ye 
are  about  to  take;  for  he  who  turns  back  will  be  likened 
unto  the  woman  who  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  a  city 
burning; — to  pillars  of  craven  cowardice  would  ye  be 
changed — monuments  to  mark  how  men,  even  when  their 
duty  shone  clear  as  though  emblazoned  on  the  azure 
vault  of  heaven,  lacked  heart  to  carry  it  out.  Consider  it 

well,  then,  all  of  you!" 
10 


138  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

The  deep  voice  of  the  priest  rose  as  he  uttered  the  last 
words,  and  its  resonant  tone  returned  in  echoes  from  the 
vaulted  ceiling  as  if  each  statued  saint  from  out  his  niche 
cried:  "Consider  it  well." 

"Are  ye  all  prepared?"  he  asked.  A  deep  "All  pre- 
pared" answered  his  question. 

"  T is  well.  Now  shall  I  register  your  vows  before  the 
unveiled  Host  and  upon  the  crucifix,  that  in  the  very 
presence  of  the  Son  of  God  ye  may  swear  to  perform 
them  unto  the  end.  To  thee,  my  son,"  continued  the 
Superior,  addressing  Catesby,  "will  I  first  administer  the 
oath,  for  'twas  thy  hand  which  was  foremost  to  lift  itself 
in  the  holy  cause."  • 

The  man  arose  and  knelt  before  the  Jesuit.  "Dost 
swear,"  said  the  priest,  holding  a  crucifix  before  the 
other's  eyes,  "that  as  thou  dost  hope  for  salvation  through 
the  blood  of  Christ,  so  thou  wilt  yield  thy  blood  if  need 
be  in  this  holy  work ;  setting  aside  all  else  until  a  Catholic 
doth  occupy  the  throne  of  England?" 

"I  swear  it,  father,"  answered  Catesby,  reverently 
pressing  his  lips  to  the  cross. 

To  every  one  of  the  eight  did  the  Superior  give  the 
oath,  and  then  took  the  same  himself. 

"And  now,"  said  Garnet,  when  the  men  had  once  more 
resumed  their  places,  "do  we  proceed  to  administer  to 
each  the  sacrament  which  alone  can  fill  your  minds  and 
bodies  with  sufficient  strength  to  carry  out  our  holy  pur- 
pose." 

The  priest  arose  and  turned  toward  the  altar,  bowed, 
then  slowly  ascended  the  steps.  After  unlocking  the 
door  of  the  tabernacle  with  a  golden  key,  he  drew  forth 
from  the  recess  the  Monstrance  containing  the  eucharist. 
Again  he  bowed,  then  elevated  the  Host,  while  the  still- 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF  THE   CROSS.          139 

ness  was  only  broken  by  the  deep  tone  of  the  sacring- 
bell,  the  men  bending  in  adoration.  Once  more  the 
priest  made  reverence;  then  arising,  took  from  out  the 
Monstrance  the  pyx,  and  facing  the  group,  repeated  the 
words:  "Ecce  Agnus  Dei."  All  arose  and  knelt  before 
him  on  the  steps,  receiving  from  his  hands  the  sacra- 
ment, and  when  they  had  partaken,  each  silently  returned 
to  his  place.  A  sense  of  the  solemnity  of  their  under- 
taking, accentuated  by  the  awfulness  of  the  act  in  which 
they  were  engaged,  filled  the  men's  hearts  so  that  they 
scarcely  beheld  the  Jesuit  ascend  to  the  altar  and  replace 
the  Host  within  the  tabernacle,  or  heard  the  benediction 
he  pronounced.  .  .  . 

Once  more  the  men  stood  in  the  room  they  occupied 
previous  to  their  entrance  into  the  chapel.  All  seemed 
loath  to  speak,  being  deeply  impressed  by  the  ceremony 
in  which  they  had  taken  part. 

At  last  Favvkes  made  ready  for  departure,  being  desir- 
ous of  reaching  London  ere  daybreak.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  door  of  the  room  the  Superior  arose  and 
passed  toward  him.  "Friend  Guido,"  said  Garnet,  as  the 
other  stood  ready  for  the  journey,  "I  will  not  see  thee 
ere  thou  and  Sir  Winter  return  from  France.  Let  thy 
mind  be  at  ease  regarding  thy  daughter,  for  in  thy  ab- 
sence I  will  have  her  under  my  special  care.  Hadst  bet- 
ter mention  to  her  that  she  will  have  a  visitor?" 

"I  will  be  guided  by  thee  in  the  matter,  good  father," 
returned  Fawkes;  "but,"  he  continued,  in  a  husky  tone, 
"guard  her  well,  for  she  is  very  dear  to  me." 

"Have  no  fear,"  Garnet  answered,  kindly,  laying  a 
hand  upon  the  other's  shoulder;  "in  that  will  I  be  as 
zealous  as  though  she  were  a  daughter  of  mine  own." 
10 


140  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER    XV. 
"THOU  SHALT   NOT    KILL." 

The  deduction  made  by  Winter  concerning  the  silence 
of  Elinor  had  been  correct;  but  the  power  he  had  deemed 
potent  to  restrain  her  from  uttering  what  she  had  over- 
heard, and  from  giving  voice  to  the  indignities  he  in  his 
drunkenness  had  heaped  upon  her,  was  not  alone  the 
reason  of  her  silence;  the  mind  was  held  in  a  species  of 
lethargy.  Now  her  father  had  left  England;  the  motive 
which  prompted  his  departure  she  could  surmise, — his 
mission  was  an  enigma.  And  who  was  his  companion? 
The  man  whose  face  was  ever  before  her,  whose  touch 
haunted  her  in  dreams  causing  her  to  awake  and  cry  in 
terror  to  the  Virgin  for  protection.  The  girl  was 
wrought  up  to  a  state  of  hysterical  expectancy.  Even 
when  sitting  within  doors,  an  exclamation  upon  the 
street  would  cause  her  to  start,  fearing  it  might  be  a  voice 
proclaiming  the  fulfillment  of  the  awful  threat  which  ever 
sounded  in  her  ears.  Never  did  she  go  abroad  and  be- 
hold a  group  of  men  but  she  approached  with  trembling 
limbs  and  nervous  eagerness,  feeling  that  the  first  words 
falling  from  their  lips  would  be  that  England  was  with- 
out a  king.  What  the  effect  of  this  anxiety  might  have 
been  had  she  brooded  over  it  long  in  solitude,  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  tell.  But  solace  arose  from  an  unexpected  quar- 
ter. On  his  departure  for  France,  Fawkes  had  men- 
tioned that  there  was  in  the  city  a  certain  friend,  his 
companion  several  years  before,  whom  he  had  again 
lately  met  and  asked  to  call  from  time  to  time  to  inquire 


"THOU  SHALT    NOT    KILL."  I41 

if  he  might  render  any  service.  The  girl  awaited  the 
arrival  of  this  visitor  with  trepidation  and  some  anxiety, 
being  well  aware  that  the  companions  of  her  father  were, 
as  a  rule,  men  of  little  refinement,  accustomed  to  the 
rough  life  of  a  camp,  and  more  at  their  ease  in  a  pot- 
house than  in  the  society  of  a  young  woman.  Her  ex- 
pectations were  pleasantly  disappointed,  for  on  his  first 
visit  the  stranger,  by  his  ease  and  grace  of  manner,  ban- 
ished from  her  mind  all  doubts  concerning  him.  Al- 
though habited  in  the  garb  of  a  soldier  of  the  period,  there 
was  about  him  something — a  peculiar  refinement  of 
speech,  a  dignity  of  carriage,  a  certain  reverent  homage 
which  he  rendered  unto  her — that  won  from  the  girl  a 
feeling  of  respect  and  confidence.  His  visits,  far  from 
being  cause  for  apprehension,  had  become  the  one  bright 
spot  in  her  daily  life;  in  his  company  Elinor  for  a  brief 
time  forgot  the  terrible  anxiety  to  which  she  was  a  prey. 

The  only  circumstance  which  impressed  her  as  strange 
was  that  "Captain  Avenel" — for  by  this  name  he  had  in- 
troduced himself — seldom  visited  the  house  by  day,  and 
there  was  always  a  certain  amount  of  implied  rather  than 
actual  caution  in  his  movements,  which  seemed  to  the 
girl  odd,  as  nothing  else  in  his  manner  could  be  deemed 
in  the  least  mysterious. 

On  one  of  those  evenings,  which  Elinor  now  looked 
forward  to  with  some  pleasure,  she  and  "Captain  Avenel" 
sat  together  in  a  little  room  of  Fawkes'  dwelling. 

"And  didst  say  thou  hadst  intelligence  of  my  father?" 
inquired  she,  eagerly. 

"Tnis  very  morning,"  answered  the  man,  "did  I  re- 
ceive a  letter  brought  by  packet  from  Calais,  and  in  the 
note  he  wished  me  to  make  known  his  safe  arrival;  fur- 
ther, that  he  would  by  the  next  mail  write  thee,  telling 


142  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

all  about  his  travels.  Now  thou  canst  set  thy  mind  at 
rest  concerning  him,  for  France  in  our  time  offers  but 
few  dangers,  though  in  truth  I  think  thy  sire  hath  the 
look  of  one  to  whom  peril  would  be  a  diversion." 

"England  doth  offer  more  dangers  than  France,"  an- 
swered the  girl,  who  was  now  abstractedly  gazing  into 
the  fire. 

Garnet  turned  a  swift  glance  in  her  direction.  The 
words  awakened  in  the  priest  that  feeling  of  apprehen- 
sion which  had  ever  been  present  in  his  mind  since  his 
arrival  in  London,  but  until  now  it  had  not  been  called 
forth  by  word  or  deed  of  hers.  On  the  contrary,  in  her 
society  the  Jesuit  felt  for  some  reason,  probably  the  inno- 
cence and  loveliness  of  the  girl,  a  sensation  of  rest  and 
security  that  enabled  him  to  throw  off  the  dread  of  detec- 
tion which  so  constantly  possessed  him.  But  he  turned 
and  inquired  in  a  quiet  tone: 

"And  dost  deem  England  such  a  dangerous  country?" 

"Nay,"  replied  Elinor,  hesitatingly,  "England  doth 

seem  all  peace  and  quietude,  but "  here  she  stopped, 

fearing  the  man  might  read  what  lay  hidden  in  her  heart, 
for  he  was  regarding  her  with  a  look  of  surprise  as  he 
noted  her  embarrassment. 

"Come,  my  daughter,"  said  he  kindly,  his  gentle  heart 
touched  by  the  fear  written  on  her  face,  "I  have  suspected 
long  that  some  matter  did  trouble  thee.  If  I  have  power 
to  lend  aid,  consider  my  whitening  hair,  and  hesitate  not 
to  confide  in  me,  who  am  old  enough  to  enjoy  the  bless- 
ing of  being  called  father  by  thee." 

Elinor  looked  into  the  benevolent  countenance. 

"Fear  not,"  he  continued  in  a  persuasive  voice,  "if  I 
can  counsel  thee,  thy  wish  for  help  is  granted  ere  'tis 
asked." 


"THOU  SHALT    NOT    KILL."  143 

She  raised  her  head  and  met  a  look  of  gentle  sympathy 
long  unknown  to  her,  and  for  which  her  poor  heart  so 
fondly  yearned.  The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  and  her 
self  control,  that  which  the  brutality  of  Winter  could  not 
break  down,  gave  way.  She  turned  toward  him  like  a 
poor  tired  bird  after  battling  with  a  storm ;  her  weakness 
could  not  endure  longer  to  see  protection  neath  the  leaf 
and  branches  of  his  goodness  and  not  avail  herself  of  it. 

In  a  moment  more  the  words  had  passed  her  lips, — all 
that  she  had  overheard,  the  words  uttered  by  Fawkes,  and 
the  fear  and  anguish  which  since  had  haunted  her. 

"Is  there  naught  I  can  do?"  she  cried.  "O  God! 
when  did  I  ever  commit  a  sin  worthy  of  the  punishment?" 
She  raised  her  eyes  to  Garnet.  "Even  thou  art  pale  to 
the  lips  from  the  hideousness  of  the  thing." 

Through  the  girl's  confession,  Garnet's  attitude  re- 
mained unchanged.  At  her  first  words  he  started,  but 
with  an  effort  controlled  himself.  The  sudden  revela- 
tion that  their  plans  were  known  by  one  outside  those 
who  composed  the  little  band  consecrated  to  the  holy 
cause,  filled  him  with  a  terror  which,  at  first,  reason  was 
unable  to  check.  But  as  she  proceeded,  the  quick  mind 
of  the  priest  perceived  that  the  girl's  one  thought  was, 
not  to  save  the  King,  nor  to  defeat  their  hopes,  but  only  to 
deliver  her  father  from  the  danger  to  which  he  was  ex- 
posed. The  fear  gradually  passed  away,  and  as  Elinor 
ceased  speaking,  the  strongest  feeling  in  the  prelate's 
mind  was  one  of  sympathy  for  her  who  wept  before  him. 

"Is  there  naught,"  Garnet  inquired,  mildly,  when  the 
girl  had  finished,  "that  thou  can'st  see  to  justify  thy  fa- 
ther's act,  and  by  that  justification  bring  to  thee  consola- 
tion? Think,  even  though  he  were  marked  to  die,  more 
honor  belongs  to  him  in  this,  than  to  live  to  old  age  in 


144  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

idleness  and  inactivity.  Dwell  upon  thy  love  for  him, 
then  meditate  on  his  love  for  the  Church." 

"Nay,"  she  answered,  "my  knee  doth  bend  before  the 
altar  with  as  great  a  reverence  as  any  who  do  honor  to 
the  Host,  and  were  my  father  to  fall  in  open  conflict  I 
would  not  grudge  his  life  given  to  a  noble  cause.  But 
this  act  is  not  loyalty  to  God,  for,  did  He  not  decree, 
Thou  shalt  not  kill?'  Tis  naught  but  murder;  and 
if  my  father  fall,  he  will  not  meet  death  as  a  martyr,  but  as 
a  common  assassin." 

Garnet  was  silent;  the  girl's  words  sounded  strangely 
to  him.  Not  wishing  to  reveal  his  identity  he  deter- 
mined to  avoid  further  argument,  fearing  suspicions 
might  be  raised  in  Elinor's  mind  which  would  only  make 
matters  worse.  What  course  to  pursue  he  did  not  know. 
As  far  as  circumstances  permitted,  he  would  help  her,  but 
how  to  effect  this  was  beyond  his  present  comprehension. 

"I  have  not  told  thee  in  vain?  Thou  wilt  aid  me?"  she 
inquired. 

"My  child,  I  must  have  time  to  meditate,"  answered 
the  Jesuit.  "I  cannot  give  thee  advice  upon  such  a 
weighty  matter  without  due  deliberation ;  but/'  he  added 
hastily,  "all  is  safe  for  a  time  at  least;  thy  father  is  in 
France." 

"I  pray  God,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "that  I  shall  not  have 
reason  to  regret  opening  my  heart  unto  thee.  Nay,  thou 
couldst  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  make  known  what  I  have 
told.  Swear,"  she  cried  in  sudden  fear,  noting  a  strange 
expression  on  the  other's  face,  "swear  thou  wilt  keep  se- 
cret all  I  have  revealed." 

"Alarm  not  thyself,"  replied  the  prelate;  "what  thou 
hast  uttered  is  as  safe  as  if  'twere  said  under  the  seal  of 
the  confessional.  Know  further,  thou  hast  told  thy  trou- 


"THOU  SHALT   NOT   KILL."  145 

ble  to  one  who  will  ever  cherish  the  confidence,  even  if 
his  help  avail  thee  little.  But,"  added  he,  tenderly — in 
the  sincerity  of  his  heart  forgetting  the  sword  which 
hung  at  his  side — "may  the  peace  of  Him  whose  hand 
was  ready  to  turn  the  water  into  wine,  or  raise  the 
widow's  son,  descend  and  give  thee  relief." 

"Thou  speakest  like  a  priest,"  she  said. 

Garnet  started,  but  quickly  replied,  "Never  could  a 
priest  grant  thee  absolution  with  a  gladder  heart,  than  I 
would  release  thee  from  this  trouble,  were  it  in  my  power, 
and  were  it  the  will  of  God  that  I  should  do  so." 

"And  dost  think  it  is  God's  will  that  I  suffer  thus?" 

"Perchance,  yes,"  said  he,  in  a  thoughtful  voice,  as  if 
communing  with  himself,  "and  it  may  be  His  decree 
that  many  more  do  groan  with  thee.  Be  not  regretful 
thou  has  told  thy  sorrow,  for  even  to  confide  a  grief  is  to 
make  it  lighter." 

"Nay,  I  do  not  regret,  I  think  there  is  little  else  left 
me  but  to  endure;  would  that  I  were  dead  and  beyond 
the  touch  of  sorrow,"  she  added,  with  a  hopeless  sigh. 

"Thou  shouldst  not  wish  thyself  dead,  for  to  do  so  is 
to  be  unreconciled  to  the  will  of  God.  If  this  poor  hand 
doth  fail  to  bring  comfort,  my  prayers  shall  ever  be  for 
strength  that  thou  mayst  bear  with  fortitude  all  which  the 
wisdom  of  heaven  deems  just  to  send.  Try  to  look  upon 
thy  grief  as  a  tribute  God  demands  to  work  out  some 
mighty  project  of  His  own." 

"I  will  try,"  the  girl  said,  a  sad  smile  coming  into  her 
face.  "Think  not  I  am  ungrateful  for  thy  words  of 
comfort." 

"And  now,  my  daughter,  will  I  wish  thee  the  blessing 
of  sweet  sleep,  for  'tis  late;  I  will  see  thee  again  soon." 

"Thou  art  very  good,"  she  replied  simply,  "thou,  the 


146  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

only  one  remaining — "  her  lips  trembled  and  tears  filled 
her  eyes;  suddenly  she  threw  her  arms  about  him,  and 
between  the  sobs  which  shook  her  frame,  exclaimed,  hid- 
ing her  face  upon  his  shoulder,  "all  that  is  left  me  now." 

Garnet  regarded  the  slight  figure  clinging  to  him: 
"Oh  God!"  he  thought,  "Is  it  Thy  will  that  such  as  these 
must  suffer?"  He  raised  his  arm  as  if  to  encircle  her,  but 
let  it  drop  by  his  side. 

"Come,  my  child,"  he  said  after  a  moment,  putting  her 
gently  from  him,  "thy  tears  well  nigh  unman  me;  I  would 
it  were  in  my  power  to  give  thee  consolation,  but  help 
must  come  from  higher  hands  than  mine." 

As  he  reached  the  threshold  he  turned  and  beheld  a 
picture  which  haunted  him  many  a  day,  and  for  an  instant 
raised  within  his  holy  mind  a  doubt  of  the  justice  of  such 
grief.  As  she  stood,  the  imprint  of  deep  sorrow  was  on 
the  fair  young  face — a  sorrow  the  young  should  never 
know.  One  arm  was  raised  as  though  in  mute  appeal 
to  him  not  to  forsake  her  in  this  misery.  A  look,  and  he 
closed  the  door,  passing  out  into  the  night. 

The  effect  produced  upon  Garnet  by  the  trouble  he  had 
just  witnessed  was  complex.  Never  doubting  the  justice 
of  the  cause  he  espoused,  still,  his  quiet  nature  could  not 
hide  from  itself  a  feeling  of  pity  that  one  so  good  and 
innocent  should  be  called  upon  to  suffer  equally  with 
those  whose  unholy  hands  were  raised  to  snatch  the  cross 
from  off  the  altar  of  his  fathers. 

"Truly,"  he  muttered,  as  he  proceeded  on  his  way — 
pressing  a  hand  to  his  breast  that  he  might  feel  the  cruci- 
fix resting  there — "it  hath  been  resolved  by  higher 
authority  than  my  weak  will  that  this  thing  must  be  done. 
And,  Henry  Garnet,  who  art  thou  to  question?  Still," 
he  added,  sadly  shaking  his  head,  the  memory  of  a  tear- 


"THOU  SHALT   NOT   KILL."  147 

stained  face  passing  before  him,  "it  is  a  pity;  but  for 
every  tear  that  falls  from  thy  gentle  eyes  a  soul  will  be 
redeemed." 

He  continued  on  his  way  in  silence.  As  he  approached 
the  more  densely  populated  districts  of  the  city,  an  almost 
unconscious  movement  of  the  hand  brought  the  fold  of 
his  mantle  over  his  shoulder,  so  that  it  hid  the  lower  por- 
tion of  his  face.  The  tall  figure  of  Garnet  was  one  which 
could  not  fail  to  attract  attention,  and  many  a  passerby 
turned  to  see  who  the  cavalier  might  be.  This  did  not 
escape  the  eye  of  the  prelate,  and  evidently  for  the  sake 
of  being  unnoticed,  he  turned  into  a  less  frequented  thor- 
oughfare, and  proceeded  by  a  circuitous  route  to  gain  the 
hostelry  wherein  he  resided.  The  way  brought  him 
through  a  portion  of  the  city  composed  of  narrow  inter- 
secting streets  and  alleys,  faced  by  poor  and  worn  out 
hovels.  A  few  old  .warehouses  here  and  there  marked  the 
spots  where  in  times  gone  by  fine  goods  had  been  stored. 
As  they  stood  with  broken  windows  and  open  doors 
sighing  and  creaking  in  the  wind,  they  appeared  like  liv- 
ing creatures  who  had  fallen  from  conditions  of  plenty, 
and  were  now,  in  their  hunger,  bemoaning  the  loss  of  the 
abundance  which  once  had  filled  them. 

In  front  of  one  of  these  buildings  Garnet  paused  for 
a  moment  to  more  closely  examine  the  pile,  and  being 
deeply  absorbed  in  his  task  of  inspection,  was  not  aware 
of  the  glimmer  of  a  lantern  which  came  bobbing  toward 
him  along  the  main  road.  The  first  intimations  that  any 
one  but  himself  stood  upon  the  street  were  a  sudden  flash 
of  light  in  his  face,  a  heavy  hand  falling  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  a  gruff  voice  exclaiming: 

"Henry  Garnet,  in  the  name  of  the  King  I  arrest  thee!" 

The  priest  started,  and  with  rapid  motion  drew  his 


148  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

cloak  about  him,  at  the  same  time  springing  upon  the 
step  of  the  building.  The  man  lowered  the  light  and  by 
its  reflection  the  Jesuit  could  see  that  he  wore  the  uniform 
of  the  King's  guard. 

"Come,"  continued  the  soldier,  drawing  his  sword, 
"submission  better  suits  thee  as  a  priest,  than  does  re- 
sistance." 

The  blow  had  fallen  so  quickly,  so  unexpectedly,  that 
for  an  instant  Garnet  stood  as  one  struck  dumb,  unable 
either  to  reply  or  form  a  plan  of  action.  However,  in  a 
moment  his  alert  mind  grasped  the  situation.  He  had 
been  recognized,  that  was  evident,  but  his  arrest  was  sim- 
ply for  disobeying  the  edict  by  which  he,  as  well  as  all 
his  order,  were  banished  from  the  kingdom.  The  penalty 
following  the  violation  of  this  decree,  at  its  worst,  would 
simply  mean  imprisonment  in  the  Tower.  But  what,  he 
asked  himself,  would  be  the  consequence  of  it?  While 
far  from  being  an  egotist,  the  Jesuit  knew  that  he  alone 
was  the  thinking  power  of  that  cause  which  to  him  was 
dearer  than  life.  And  now,  when  plans  were  fast  matur- 
ing, the  corn  ripening  in  the  field,  awaiting  but  the  hand 
of  the  reapers,  he  was  placed  in  sudden  danger  which 
threatened  to  frustrate  all  their  hopes.  These  thoughts 
flashed  through  his  mind  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning 
as  he  confronted  the  man  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 
Escape  he  must, —  but  how? 

"Come,  Henry  Garnet,"  the  man  repeated,  ascending 
the  steps,  lantern  in  one  hand,  a  sword  in  the  other. 
"Thou  art  my  prisoner,  and  in  the  name  of  his  most  gra- 
cious Majesty,  James  I.,  I  arrest  thee!" 

A  bold  rush  now  would  be  of  no  avail,  for  the  man  stood 
with  the  point  of  his  rapier  close  to  the  prelate's  breast, 
almost  touching  his  doublet;  furthermore  Garnet's  sword 


'THOU  SHALT   NOT   KILL."  149 

was  in  its  scabbard,  and  at  the  first  attempt  to  draw  it,  he, 
in  all  probability,  would  be  run  through  the  body.  Was 
there  no  alternative  but  to  yield?  A  gust  of  wind  caused 
the  door  at  his  back  to  creak.  In  an  instant  the  Jesuit 
had  sprung  for  the  portal,  but  the  soldier,  perceiving  his 
purpose,  lunged  with  his  weapon,  and  so  true  was  the 
aim,  that  the  prelate's  cloak  was  pinned  fast  to  the  wooden 
frame.  An  instant  he  was  held  there,  but  the  clasp  of  the 
mantle  giving  way  released  its  wearer,  and  Garnet  stood 
in  the  dark  entry,  the  door  shut,  and  his  foot  set  firmly 
against  it.  The  move  had  been  none  too  quick,  for  the 
soldier  hurled  himself  upon  the  closed  portal,  which 
caused  the  old  boards  to  groan,  but  they  did  not  yield; 
the  only  result  of  the  man's  efforts  were,  that  the  lantern 
flew  from  his  grasp,  rolling  down  the  steps  into  the  street. 
The  priest  heard  him  descend  to  recover  the  light,  and 
relinquishing  his  hold  upon  the  door,  groped  his  way 
through  the  darkness,  hoping  to  elude  his  pursuer  in  the 
building.  His  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  baluster, 
and  he  quickly  ascended  the  rickety  stairs.  By  this  time, 
the  guard  had  relighted  his  lantern  and  was  peering 
cautiously  into  the  hall,  evidently  fearing  a  sword  thrust 
from  out  the  darkness.  In  this  instant's  hesitation,  Gar- 
net gained  the  loft  above.  Here  the  obscurity  was  less 
intense,  for  the  waning  moon  shining  through  a  broken 
window  into  a  room  at  his  left,  enabled  him  to  see  his 
way  more  distinctly.  There  was  little  time  for  choice  of 
direction,  for  even  now  the  soldier  had  commenced  to 
ascend,  and  Garnet,  not  venturing  to  grope  further  in 
the  gloom,  turned  toward  the  ray  of  light,  and  passed 
quickly  into  the  room,  pressed  himself  against  the  wall 
and  waited.  The  priest  could  see  his  pursuer  holding  the 
lantern  above  his  head,  as  he  ascended  the  stairs,  looking 


ISO  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

carefully  about  the  while.  The  soldier  approached  the 
chamber  in  which  the  Jesuit  lay  hid,  peered  in  at  the  door, 
and  as  if  not  satisfied  with  this  cursory  examination  en- 
tered. At  last  the  man  seemed  satisfied,  and  with  a  mut- 
tered curse  was  about  to  leave  the  apartment,  when  a 
fatal  turn  of  the  lantern  swept  one  of  its  rays  full  upon 
the  Jesuit. 

"Ah!  there  thou  art,  my  sly  fox!"  cried  the  soldier, 
springing,  sword  in  hand,  at  Garnet ;  another  instant  would 
have  seen  the  priest  pinned  fast  to  the  wall,  had  not  the 
man's  foot  in  some  way  become  entangled  in  the  mantle 
hanging  upon  his  arm,  throwing  him  headlong  with  great 
clatter  of  steel  to  the  floor. 

In  a  moment  Garnet  was  upon  him,  both  hands  at  the 
soldier's  throat,  the  long  fingers  pressing  firmly  the  wind- 
pipe; one  more  strong  clasp  and  the  priest  released  his 
hold,  seized  the  other's  sword,  which  had  fallen  to  the 
floor,  and  stood  with  its  point  upon  the  man's  breast. 

"Swear  by  the  God  thou  fearest,  and  upon  thine  honor, 
that  thou  wilt  remain  in  this  room  until  I  leave  the  house! 
Swear  it!"  the  priest  repeated,  "ere  I  run  thee  through!" 

No  answer  followed  his  command. 

"Come.  Swear  it!"  he  repeated,  pressing  the  rapier 
firmly  against  the  other's  chest.  The  ominous  silence  fell 
upon  the  priest  as  strange.  He  stooped  to  look  into  the 
face.  The  light  was  dim,  and  still  lower  he  bent.  Sud- 
denly the  sword  dropped  from  his  hand,  for  the  Jesuit 
saw  by  the  bulging  eyes  which  stared  into  his  that  he  had 
demanded  an  oath  from  a  corpse.  Those  long  white  fin- 
gers had  pressed  more  firmly  than  they  knew;  the  man's 
windpipe  was  crushed  like  paper. 

"My  God!"  the  Jesuit  whispered,  kneeling  beside  the 
prostrate  form,  horror  of  the  deed  falling  upon  him.  "Of 


"THOU  SHALT    NOT    KILL."  IS1 

what  have  I  been  guilty?  This  man's  blood  upon  my 
head?"  Terror-stricken,  he  looked  about  the  room. 
Again  his  eyes  returned  to  the  thing  lying  beside  him. 
Was  that  a  movement  of  the  distorted  face?  He  gazed 
upon  it  in  horrible  fascination.  Slowly  the  lips  of  the 
dead  man  parted,  the  jaw  dropped,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  a  hideous  smile  lay  upon  the  distorted  visage. 

"Ah!"  cried  Garnet,  springing  to  his  feet,  "Even  in 
death  thou  art  the  victor,  for  I  am  shackled  to  thee.  Never 
in  this  world  can  I  escape  the  recollection  of  thy  counte- 
nance!" 

The  priest  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  raised  his  hands: 

"God  help  me  and  forgive  me  for  this  deed!"  he  cried. 
"If  I  have  sinned,  'twas  not  to  save  this  worthless  life  of 
mine;  not  that  I  deemed  it  sweet  to  live,  but  that  I  might 
survive  to  consecrate  or  yield  that  life  in  the  furtherance 
of  Thy  holy  work!" 

He  paused  a  moment  in  silent  prayer,  then  arose,  and 
taking  a  crucifix  from  his  doublet,  knelt  by  the  figure 
on  the  floor  and  pressed  the  symbol  to  the  dead  lips. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  as  he  stood  regarding  the  man,  "I  did 
not  wish  thy  death,  and  would  gladly  yield  my  life  to  see 
thee  breathe  again,  but  'twas  ordained  thou  shouldst  go 
first.  And  who  next?"  he  added,  raising  the  cross  and 
gazing  upon  it — "Mayhap  he  doth  wear  a  crown." 


152  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
MONTEAGLE    AND    SALISBURY. 

Four  months  passed;  months  of  impatience  to  the 
conspirators  who  awaited  with  eagerness  the  hour  to 
strike  against  the  government.  Winter  and  Fawkes  had 
returned  from  France,  their  mission  in  part  accomplished, 
as  they  had  obtained  from  certain  of  the  Catholic  nobility 
promises  of  assistance  in  the  way  of  men  and  money,  did 
the  doors  of  England  open  to  receive  them.  The  plot  to 
strike  at  the  heart  of  the  ruling  powers  was  slowly  ma- 
turing; Fawkes,  now  the  leading  spirit,  worked  dili- 
gently both  with  brain  and  hands  to  perfect  the  plan  de- 
cided upon  by  Winter,  Catesby  and  the  others.  Secure 
in  a  feeling  of  strength,  the  King  had  little  thought  that 
Fate  was  slowly  winding  about  him  and  his  ministers  a 
shroud  which  prompt  action  alone  could  cast  off. 

Toward  the  close  of  a  sultry  midsummer  day,  Lord 
Cecil,  Earl  of  Salisbury  and  Prime  Minister  of  England, 
after  holding  audience  with  the  King,  returned  to  his 
dwelling,  glad  to  cast  aside  his  decorations  and  forget 
during  a  few  hours  the  weighty  affairs  of  State.  He  was 
scarcely  seated,  with  a  glass  of  wine  in  hand,  when  my 
Lord  of  Monteagle  was  announced  as  waiting  in  the  ante- 
chamber. Twas  no  strange  thing  for  this  nobleman  to 
seek  the  Minister  at  his  home,  for  between  them  there 
was  a  warm  friendship,  and  it  pleased  Cecil  to  receive  the 
other  at  any  time  he  chose  to  visit  him.  He  therefore  or- 
dered that  Monteagle  should  be  at  once  conducted  to  his 
apartment,  and  a  second  glass  of  wine  prepared. 


MONTEAGLE    AND    SALISBURY.  153 

As  the  peer  entered,  the  keen  eyes  of  his  host  noted  that 
his  bearing  betokened  a  mind  ill  at  ease. 

"Faith!"  said  he,  rising  from  his  seat  and  extending  his 
hand,  "thou  bearest  a  most  sour  visage,  my  lord.  Hath 
ridden  in  the  sun,  or  did  thy  cook  forget  his  occupation 
and  serve  thee  an  ill-prepared  repast?" 

Monteagle  smiled  faintly.  "Nay,"  said  he,  "  'tis  my 
mind  which  is  somewhat  disturbed." 

"Then  sit  thee  down,"  cried  Cecil  cheerily,  "and  un- 
burden thyself  to  me  of  all  save  affairs  of  State ;  of  them 
am  I  exceeding  weary,  for  the  King  hath  a  new  hobby, 
a  tax  on  beets  and  onions,  in  the  discussion  of  which  the 
afternoon  has  been  consumed." 

"Then  his  Majesty  devised  another  way "  began 

Monteagle. 

Salisbury  raised  his  hand.  "  'Tis  treason,"  said  he  in 
feigned  displeasure;  "wouldst  have  us  in  the  Tower,  good 
Monteagle,  that  thou  speak  so  lightly  of  James'  states- 
manship?" Then  changing  his  jesting  tone  to  one  of 
gravity:  "But  tell  me,  what  troubles  thee?  Hath  the 
air  of  France  failed  to  restore  the  spirits  of  thy  son, 
Effingston?  He  hath  not  returned?" 

"He  is  still  in  Paris,"  replied  the  other,  touching  his 
lips  to  the  glass  which  had  been  proffered  him,  "I  this 
day  received  a  letter  in  which  he  speaks  encouragingly 
of  his  health,  and  announces  his  return  within  the  month. 
Thy  mind  is  easy,  my  lord?" 

"And  why  not?"  demanded  the  Prime  Minister,  hold- 
ing aloft  his  glass  that  he  might  watch  the  reflection  of 
the  sun's  rays  upon  the  wine.  "England  is  at  peace,  the 
King  seated  firm  upon  his  throne,  and  the  Ship  of  State 
rides  on  an  even  keel.  Hast  dreamed  of  treason,  my 
Lord  Monteagle?" 
11 


154  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"Perchance  not  treason,"  replied  his  companion,  draw- 
ing his  chair  nearer,  "but — certain  things  my  son  hath 
written,  added  to  others  coming  under  my  own  observa- 
tion, have  caused  me  some  uneasiness — a  shadowy  sus- 
picion, as  it  were,  that  an  ill  plan  is  brewing  against  the 
King's  authority." 

"Tut!"  cried  Salisbury.  "  'tis  a  fit  of  indigestion,  about 
which  thou  hadst  best  consult  thy  doctor.  Yet,  what  be 
these  suspicions?" 

"Thou  knowest,"  replied  Monteagle,  sinking  his  voice 
so  that  it  scarce  reached  the  other's  ear,  "there  are  cer- 
tain Catholics  among  the  nobles  who  chafe  grievously 
under  the  exactions  of  laws  passed  by  Parliament  and 
approved  by  James." 

Salisbury  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "That  is  beyond 
peradventure,"  said  he,  "but  the  laws  will  stand." 

"Of  that  I  would  speak  nothing,"  replied  Monteagle, 
"being  neither  King  nor  Parliament,  but  it  hath  been 
hinted  that  perchance  the  wind  of  discontent  may  fan  into 
life  a  flame  of " 

"Thou  hast  relatives  among  the  Catholics,"  interrupted 
Cecil,  looking  keenly  at  the  other,  "hast  become  a  con- 
fidant?" 

Monteagle  shook  his  head.  "Nay,"  said  he,  "nor  do  I 
desire  to  mix  in  affairs  concerning  my  former  faith.  Yet, 
I  have  knowledge  of  certain  meetings  which  have  taken 
place  composed  of  sundry  persons  opposed  to  the  policy 
of  James." 

"The  dogs  cut  by  the  lash  herd  together  in  their  dis- 
comfiture," replied  Cecil,  "yet  they  fear  to  bite  the  hand 
which  stung  them." 

Monteagle  frowned,  for  the  words  of  the  Prime  Min- 
ister were  not  to  his  liking. 


MONTEAGLE    AND    SALISBURY.  155 

"There  is  more,"  said  he;  "certain  of  those  have  been 
seen  in  France." 

"  Tis  a  most  Catholic  country,"  replied  Salisbury, 
"and,  perhaps,  wishing  to  worship  unmolested  before 
their  altars,  some  have  gone  thither  for  their  religion's 
sake." 

"My  lord!"  cried  Monteagle,  perceiving  the  Minister 
was  in  a  mood  for  jesting,  "hast  thou  had  no  fear  that 
some  hidden  danger  might  lurk  beneath  the  calm  exterior 
of  the  peace  which  covers  England?  Do  not  smile,  but 
hear  me.  Thou  knowest  the  Viscount  Effingston  is  in 
France,  at  the  Court  of  Henry,  and  hath  mingled  much 
with  some  who  are  close  to  the  throne.  Perhaps  it  may 
not  have  reached  thine  ears  that  some  months  back  a 
bloodless  duel  was  fought  between  him  and  one  Sir 
Thomas  Winter,  a  zealous  Catholic  and  enemy  to  the 
King." 

"Ah!"  broke  in  Salisbury,  "thy  speech  grows  interest- 
ing; and  what  brought  about  this  duel?" 

"  'Twas  an  insult  cast  upon  me  by  this  Winter,"  replied 
Monteagle.  "Effingston  chancing  to  hear,  resented  it,  and 
an  exchange  of  sword  thrusts  followed;  but  that  is 
past.  As  I  told  thee  this  morning  I  received  a  letter 
from  Paris  in  which  the  Viscount  says  he  hath  met  this 
Winter  and  another,  a  soldier  of  the  commoners, 
and " 

"A  second  duel  hath  followed?"  interrupted  the  Min- 
ister. 

"Not  so,"  replied  the  other,  "but  being  suspicious  of 
the  fellows,  my  son  did  set  a  spy  upon  them,  feeling  sure 
that  no  honest  errand  took  them  into  France." 

"And  what  did  he  discover?"  asked  Salisbury. 

"That  Winter  and  his  companion  sought  many  times 
11 


156  THE   FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

audiences  with  certain  high  churchmen  known  to  be 
enemies  of  England.  Once,  he  chanced  to  meet  them 
upon  the  street,  when  Winter  flushed  a  scarlet  and  hastily 
passed.  After  this  he  learned  that  two  Englishmen,  one 
a  soldier  who  had  served  the  King  of  Spain,  gained  the 
ear  of  certain  prelates  and  noblemen;  that  their  confer- 
ences had  been  conducted  with  much  secrecy,  and  having 
finished,  the  men  left  Paris  in  the  night,  taking  poste  for 
Calais." 

"And  what  then?"  asked  Salisbury,  "did  thy  son  learn 
anything  concerning  those  secret  conferences?" 

"No  way  was  open  to  him,"  answered  Monteagle,  "but 
he  .thought  it  best  to  lay  the  matter  before  me;  the  more 
so  that  Winter  and  the  other  have  returned  to  London." 

The  Prime  Minister  pondered  for  a  moment.  "Faith! 
my  lord!"  said  he,  "thy  zeal  for  the  welfare  of  the  State  is 
most  commendable,  and  the  King  shall  know  of  it,  but 
thy  spirit  is  overwrought  with  idle  fear.  What  if  certain 
Catholics  in  England  have  sought  audience  with  those  of 
their  faith  in  Paris?  Have  we  then  fear  of  France?  My 
word  upon  it,  good  Monteagle,  that  calm  thought  will 
quell  thy  doubts.  Of  this  Thomas  Winter  I  know  some- 
thing; a  reminder  of  the  luckless  Essex,  a  gentleman 
whose  zeal  doth  warp  his  reason,  and  who,  should  he 
presume  too  far,  will  feel  the  axe,  I  warrant.  Thou  sayest 
he  is  again  in  England;  perchance  he  builds  a  castle 
which  the  sight  of  a  line  of  soldiers  will  scatter  to  the 
winds.  Again  I  thank  thee  for  thy  counsel,  my  lord,  nor 
will  I  neglect  such  matters  as  pertain  to  the  safety  of  the 
King.  If  it  come  to  thee,  that  these  dissatisfied  Catholics 
grow  too  bold  in  speech,  for  I  fear  not  other  signs  of 
treason,  lay  it  before  me,  that  I  may  stop  their  tongues, 
ere  evil  thoughts  be  planted  in  the  minds  of  them  who 


MONTEAGLE    AND    SALISBURY.  157 

cry  'amen'  to  any  wind  of  speech  delivered  in  the  market 
place." 

Monteagle  arose,  for  he  perceived  'twas  useless  to 
speak  further  of  ill-defined  plots  and  perchance  ground- 
less fears  of  treason  against  the  King. 

"I  but  considered  it  my  duty  as  an  English  gentleman 
to  look  to  the  welfare  of "  he  began. 

"Thou  hast  my  confidence,"  interrupted  Salisbury, 
"and  though  I  seem  to  treat  lightly  thy  suspicions  they 
will  be  most  carefully  heeded  should  occasion  arise. 
There  be  certain  chambers  in  the  Tower,  where  those  too 
zealous  in  their  faith  may  pass  the  time  in  prayer,  thank- 
ing God  the  King  is  merciful,  and  stays  the  axe." 

Monteagle  bowed  and  left  the  room.  "It  may  be,"  he 
muttered,  "that  my  mind  doth  dwell  too  much  upon  this 
matter,  but  I  know  Sir  Thomas  Winter  well,  and  there 
be  certain  of  the  Jesuits  yet  in  England." 


158  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
SOWING  THE   WIND. 

Late  of  an  evening  near  to  Michaelmas,  three  men  ap- 
plied for  admission  at  the  door  of  a  house  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  Thames,  and  which,  by  reason  of  its  surround- 
ings, assured  security  from  observation  to  those  who 
might  choose  to  abid*  therein.  Knocking  upon  the  panel 
with  the  hilt  of  a  heavy  rapier  which  he  had  drawn  from 
its  scabbard,  the  shorter  of  the  trio  listened  impatiently 
for  the  sounds  which  would  precede  the  drawing  of  the 
bolts  within.  His  companions,  who  were  in  the  shadow 
of  a  neighboring  wall,  glanced  about  apprehensively. 

"  Tis  an  ill-favored  place,  Sir  Thomas,"  whispered 
one,  grasping  tighter  the  hilt  of  his  sword  as  though  the 
touch  of  the  steel  might  calm  in  a  measure  his  disquie- 
tude. "Scarce  is  it  to  my  liking  that  friend  Guido  hath 
chosen  so " 

His  companion  laughed  uneasily.  "He  hath  a  keen 
wit,"  replied  he,  "and  much  precaution  is  necessary  that 
none  suspect  at  the  eleventh  hour.  As  thou  seest,  good 
Percy,  'tis  a  most  peaceful  region,  with  few  abroad  and 
no  signs  of  the  authorities." 

"Peaceful,  indeed,"  replied  Percy,  casting  his  eyes 
down  the  poorly  lighted  and  narrow  street  through  which 
he  had  come;  "so  is  a  charnel-house,  yet  one  would 
scarce " 

A  second  rap  upon  the  door,  delivered  with  increased 
force,  interrupted  the  whispered  conversation. 

"Within!"  growled  Fawkes,  bending  so  that  his  lips 


SOWING   THE   WIND.  159 

were  on  a  level  with  the  keyhole.  "Art  sleeping,  Master 
Keyes,  or " 

The  shuffling  of  feet  answered,  and  a  voice  nearly 
inarticulate  from  drowsiness  demanded  in  no  gentle  tones 
who  sought  admittance  to  an  honest  dwelling  at  so  un- 
seasonable an  hour. 

Upon  Fawkes  replying,  the  bolt  was  withdrawn,  the 
door  opened  a  few  inches  and  the  face  of  Master  Keyes 
appeared  in  the  aperture.  The  soldier  of  fortune  mo- 
tioned to  his  companions  who  quickly  joined  him. 

"Good  Robert,  here,  is  a  most  cunning  rogue,"  said  he 
half  laughingly,  "having  feigned  sleep " 

The  warden  of  the  door  forced  a  sneering  smile. 
"Faith!"  said  he,  making  way  that  the  others  might  enter, 
"  'twas  such  feigning  as  may  ever  come  to  me  when  I 
would  forget  my  troubles,  and  there  be  in  my  purse  no 
silver  to  purchase  that  which  is  opposed  to  conscience. 
What  wouldst  thou,  Guido  Fawkes?  that  I  sit  upright  in 
a  corner  from  eventide  till  morn  that  thou  be  not  kept 
waiting  before  the  door?  Ill  was  the  day  when,  listening 
to  thy  words,  I  undertook  this  errand;  thou  art  fain  to 
wish  that  I  may  be  blown  to  the  devil  by  thy  six  and 
thirty  barrels  of— 

Fawkes  hastily  laid  his  open  palm  across  the  mouth  of 
the  irate  man.  "What  now?"  growled  he  gruffly,  "that 
thou  must  cry  aloud  the  contents  of  thy  cellar?  Hast  not 
been  paid?" 

"Aye,"  grumbled  the  man,  drawing  back,  "for  sitting 
over  hell!  May  those  selfsame  Spanish  hirelings  to 
whom  thy  powder  goeth,  be  blown  to  their  master  with 
scant  courtesy!" 

Winter  whispered  in  Percy's  ear:  "A  pretty  trick, 
good  Percy,  yet  what  more  natural  than,  wishing  to  turn 


160  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

a  penny  by  furnishing  powder  to  the  Dons,  brave  Guido 
should  act  with  much  secrecy,  so  that  it  be  not  seized  by 
the  authorities?" 

Already  they  were  in  the  house,  and  the  door  was 
securely  fastened.  Fawkes  laid  aside  some  of  his  cau- 
tiousness. 

"Friend  Robert  is  a  faithful  man,"  said  he,  turning  to 
his  companions  and  speaking  with  much  significance; 
"therefore  have  I  entered  into  an  agreement  with  him, 
that  I,  being  under  contract  to  the  Spanish  ambassador 
to  convey  certain  barrels  of  gunpowder  into  Flanders, 
he  should  guard  them  till  the  time  be  ripe  for  loading 
into  such  vessels  as  will  carry  them  to  the  ship  which  I 
have  hired." 

"Then,"  replied  Winter,  taking  from  his  wallet  a  gold 
piece  and  tendering  it  to  Keyes,  "he  will  accept  this  token 
which,  I  warrant,  will  be  increased  by  others  of  its  kind 
if  his  diligence  pleaseth  thee." 

On  seeing  the  gold  the  man's  ill  temper  vanished. 
"Good  gentlemen,"  cried  he,  seizing  eagerly  the  coin,  "I 
spoke  but  hastily." 

"That  we  know,"  said  Winter,  "and,  perchance  we, 
had  we  been  so  rudely  awakened,  would  have  done  as 
thou  didst.  Hath  any  disturbed  thee  during  thy  guard- 
ianship?" 

"None,  save  a  few  drunken  braggarts  who  found  their 
way  hither,  and  would  have  battered  in  the  door.  Did 
any  come  whose  wits  were  sharper  than  their  caution,  I 
would  have " 

"What?"  asked  Fawkes  pointedly,  as  the  speaker  hesi- 
tated. 

"Faith!"  replied  Keyes,  "being  a  poor  man,  and  a  bag 
of  gold  pieces  forthcoming  upon  the  safe  loading  of  this 


SOWING  THE   WIND.  161 

devil's  face  powder  onto  the  Spanish  vessel,  'twould  be 
but  just,  that  did  any  seek  to  cheat  me  of  it — well,  the 
river  tells  no  tales;  what  think  ye,  gentlemen?" 

Percy  shuddered;  Winter  pressed  his  hand.  "Nay, 
good  Percy,"  he  whispered,  "  'tis  scarce  like  to  happen, 
yet  even  so,  we  would  be  but  instruments  in  the  hand  of 
God." 

During  this  conversation  Fawkes,  \vho  seemed  to  be 
familiar  with  the  house,  had  led  his  companions  into  a 
small  apartment  whose  window  overlooked  the  river 
which,  washing  against  the  stone  foundation  of  the  dwell- 
ing, offered  a  safe  retreat  did  any,  bent  upon  trouble  mak- 
ing, force  the  street  door. 

Winter  and  Percy  glanced  about  them.  The  place  was 
bare  save  for  a  rude  cot,  a  shaky  table  upon  which  flick- 
ered an  iron-bound  lantern,  and  a  small  chest  that,  did 
occasion  require,  could  be  placed  against  the  narrow 
door.  At  a  sign  from  Fawkes,  Keyes  drew  aside  the  bed, 
disclosing  in  the  floor  the  outlines  of  a  trap  door,  which 
covered  an  opening  to  the  cellar  beneath.  Stooping,  he 
raised  the  heavy  cover,  revealing  the  top  rounds  of  a  rude 
ladder  leading  into  the  blackness  below. 

"  Tis  there!"  said  Fawkes  shortly,  "wouldst  see  it,  gen- 
tlemen?" 

Percy  drew  back,  when  Keyes,  misunderstanding  his 
hesitancy,  caught  the  lantern  from  the  table. 

"I  will  go  down,"  said  he,  "and  thou  mayst  safely  fol- 
low; the  stuff  be  well  housed,  tight  as  a  drum,  and,  as 
thou  seest,  the  lantern  scattereth  no  fire." 

"But  will  not  the  dampness  of  the  place  destroy  its  use- 
fulness?" asked  Winter. 

"There  is  little  fear,"   replied  Fawkes,   "although  it 


162  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

lieth  below  the  surface  of  the  river;  the  cellar  is  hewn 
from  the  rock,  and  dry  as  a  tinder-box.  Lead  the  way, 
good  Robert,  take  heed  with  thy  light." 

With  much  cautiousness  the  two  men  followed  Fawkes 
and  his  guide  down  the  ladder  to  the  floor  ten  feet  below. 
Reaching  it,  Keyes  held  up  the  lantern  so  that  its  feeble 
rays  penetrated  the  darkness.  Piled  against  the  walls  of 
the  subterranean  chamber,  Winter  and  Percy  discerned 
irregular  dark  objects  rising  to  the  height  of  their  heads. 

,"  Tis  the  wind  which  will  free  England  of  the  pesti- 
lence," said  Fawkes  grimly;  then  catching  the  quick 
glance  of  Winter,  which  reminded  him  of  the  presence  of 
Master  Keyes,  added:  "Which  sown  in  Flanders  will 
bring  forth  a  whirlwind  against  those  who  serve  not  God 
after  the  manner  of  the  righteous." 

"A  goodly  amount  of  the  grains,"  said  Percy,  placing 
his  foot  again  upon  a  round  of  the  ladder;  "and  how 
much  saidst  thou,  good  Master  Keyes?" 

"As  Fawkes  hath  told  me,  some  six  and  thirty  barrels," 
replied  the  watchman;  "enough,  methinks,  to  send  all 
London  up  to  the  stars." 

"And  the  King,  also,"  whispered  Winter  in  Fawkes' 
ear,  and  added,  "let  us  to  the  room  above.  My  stomach 
hath  small  liking  for  thy  cellars." 

Percy  was  already  half  way  up  the  ladder,  and  the 
others  quickly  followed.  To  the  soldier  of  fortune  and  to 
Master  Keyes,  'twas  of  little  moment  that  they  had  stood 
in  the  presence  of  such  an  engine  of  destruction,  which, 
if  properly  applied,  would  shake  to  its  foundation  the 
strongest  structure  in  Europe.  But  in  Winter  and  Percy, 
especially  the  latter,  the  presence  of  the  gunpowder, 
thoughts  of  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  to  be  used,  and 


SOWING  THE   WIND.  163 

the  lives  which  must  be  sacrificed,  overcame  for  the  mo- 
ment their  fanatical  zeal,  and  they  withdrew  with  a  feeling 
akin  to  horror.  Twas  truly  the  seed  of  death;  and  in 
sowing  the  wind  might  they  not,  themselves,  reap  the 
Whirlwind? 

A  short  time  in  the  upper  chamber  restored  their  calm- 
ness, and  they  no  longer  seemed  such  fearful  things, 
those  grim  barrels  of  harmless  looking  black  grains, 
which  might  lie  harmless  for  centuries,  as  they  had  seen 
them,  or,  at  the  touch  of  a  single  tiny  spark,  shake  Lon- 
don as  by  an  earthquake,  vacate  a  royal  throne,  and 
exterminate  in  an  instant  the  proudest  government  in 
Europe.  Percy,  of  more  gentle  disposition  than  his  com- 
panion, gazed  into  the  face  of  Guido  Fawkes  with  a  feel- 
ing akin  to  awe.  His  was  the  brain  which  had  suggested 
this  terrific  method  for  the  destruction  of  the  King  and 
Parliament;  his  the  voice  that  had  pronounced  the  words 
which  laid  bare  the  plan  to  Catesby,  Winter  and  the 
others.  If  Fawkes  had  never  come  from  Spain,  perhaps 
,  but  the  subject  of  his  gloomy  thoughts  was  speak- 
ing in  reply  to  a  question  put  by  Sir  Thomas. 

"Thou  hast  noted,"  said  he,  "that  this  dwelling  lieth 
close  to  the  river;  so,  'twill  be  no  great  matter  to  remove 
the  barrels  from  the  cellar  to  the  deck  of  a  boat  lashed 
beneath  the  window,  and,  if  a  dark  night  be  chosen  for  the 
work,  none,  I  warrant,  will  perceive  the  matter.  What 
sayest  thou,  friend  Robert?" 

"That  there  is  much  of  wisdom  in  thy  speech,"  replied 
the  other;  "and  once  upon  the  boat,  the  channel  to  the 
sea,  where  will  lie  thy  Spanish  galley,  is  open.  When, 
thinkest  thou,  the  powder  will  be  moved?" 

"I  know  not,"  replied  Fawkes,  sharply, — "in  due  time 


164  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

Then,  turning  to  his  companions:  "Gentlemen, 
having  seen  that  which  lies  below,  what  may  be  your 
pleasure?" 

'To  return  quickly,"  replied  Percy,  relieved  at  the 
thought  of  escaping  from  such  an  ill-favored  locality. 

Keyes  chuckled.  "Thou  art  in  haste  to  quit  my  pres- 
ence, and  my  pretty  devil's  powder,  good  gentlemen," 
said  he;  "didst  sleep  so  near  as  we,  perchance  you  would 
come  to  love  it  as  Master  Fawkes  and  I  do.  One  spark 
from  this  weak  lantern,  and — 

"Come!"  cried  Percy,  drawing  his  arm  through  that  of 
Winter, — "we  are  satisfied;  what  need  to  tarry  longer?" 

In  the  street  once  more  they,  with  Fawkes  leading, 
hastened  to  gain  a  more  populous  section  of  the  city. 
'Twas  to  Winter's  house  they  went,  where  Catesby  was 
waiting  impatiently.  He,  with  Fawkes,  had  visited  the 
house  by  the  river  on  the  night  previous,  therefore  he  fell 
into  their  discussion  with  good  knowledge  of  the  subject 
in  hand. 

"Thou  shouldst  have  been  a  general,"  said  he  to 
Fawkes;  "it  scarce  comes  to  me  how  so  goodly  a  quan- 
tity of  powder  could  be  stored  in  yonder  place  without 
detection." 

"  'Twas  no  great  matter,"  replied  Fawkes,  setting  down 
the  wineglass  Winter  had  handed  him,  "a  little  here,  a 
trifle  there,  requiring  some  weeks  in  the  gathering;  but 
now,  as  thou  hast  seen,  there  is  enough." 

Winter  laughed.  "Faith!"  said  he,  "I  would  fain  not 
have  thee  for  mine  enemy,  friend  Guido;  else,  some  fine 
night,  while  I  dreamed  not  that  danger  threatened,  my 
good  dwelling  would  come  to  grief." 

Fawkes  smiled  grimly.    "Not  so,"  said  he;    "if  thou 


SOWING   THE   WWD.  165 

wert  an  enemy,  and  I  had  sworn  to  kill  thee,  'twould  be 
by  other  means," — touching  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  "What 
thou  hast  seen  is  reserved  for  kings  and  parliaments." 

"The  powder  is  well  stored,"  broke  in  Catesby, — "what 
next?" 

"That  hath  been  attended  to,"  replied  Percy.  "As  thou 
knowest,  certain  events  must  transpire  ere  Master 
Keyes  gives  up  his  guardianship.  To  me  has  fallen  the 
duty  of  looking  into  the  matter.  The  cellar  of  the  Par- 
liament House  must  be  reached  ere  further  effect  can 
come  from  our  planning." 

"What  hast  thou  decided?"  asked  Winter. 

"Upon  a  simple  solution  of  the  matter,"  replied  the 
Gentleman-Pensioner.  "Foreseeing  our  course,  I  have 
made  an  agreement  with  one  Henry  Ferrers  for  the  hiring 
of  a  dwelling  close  to  the  House  of  Parliament.  The 
documents  are  already  signed  and  sealed.  As  in  many 
houses,  the  cellar  extends  some  feet  below  the  surface  of 
the  street  and,  next  it,  lies  the  foundation  wall  of  the 
House." 

"Then,"  cried  Catesby,  "we  will  play  the  mole;  is  it 
not  so,  good  Percy?" 

"Thou  hast  said  it,"  replied  the  other;  "to  reach  the 
cellar  beneath  the  House  of  Lords  we  must  pierce 
through  the  foundation.  'Tis  of  great  thickness  and  the 
task  will  not  be  easy." 

"I  am  little  used  to  delving,"  growled  Fawkes,  "but 
there  is  no  other  way." 

"And  Garnet?"  inquired  Catesby. 

"Garnet  hath  gone  from  London/'  said  Percy,  "nor 
will  he  return  until  the  fuse  has  reached  the  powder.  He 
is  now  at  Coughton  House  to  await  such  time  as  we  shall 
summon  him  to  join  our  forces." 


166  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

"And  them  hast  all  in  readiness?"  asked  Winter. 

"In  the  house  of  Henry  Ferrers  are  tools  for  digging- 
picks,  hammers  and  the  like,"  replied  Percy. 

"And  in  another  place  lie  six  and  thirty  kegs  of  trusty 
powder,"  added  Catesby;  "the  instruments  are  at  hand." 
Then  rising:  "Come,  gentlemen!  our  conference  is 
ended;  to-morrow  we  work,  not  talk." 


THE    CELLAR.  167 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
THE    CELLAR. 

The  house  of  Master  Ferrers  stood  on  the  narrow  strip 
of  land  between  the  House  of  Lords  and  the  river 
Thames.  The  wall  of  the  dwelling  being  adjacent  to  that 
which  guarded  the  east  side  of  the  Parliament  House, 
'twas  not  so  difficult  a  matter  for  one  bent  upon  gaining 
secret  entrance  to  the  latter,  to  tunnel  through  it.  Being 
of  soft  bricks  it  would  afford  but  a  slight  obstacle  to 
determined  men.  To  penetrate  the  official  structure  was 
a  harder  undertaking,  the  thickness  thereof  being  some 
nine  feet,  and  the  masonry  of  flinty  stone,  firmly 
cemented,  and  hardened  into  a  compact  mass  by  the  lapse 
of  years.  But,  having  once  pierced  through  the  two 
walls,  the  first  of  brick,  the  other  of  stone,  one  would  find 
himself  in  a  chamber  of  some  extent,  lying  directly  be- 
neath the  assembling  place  of  the  peers,  and  the  throne 
from  which  the  King  witnessed  the  convening  of  his 
Parliament. 

Though,  in  fact,  a  cellar  to  the  main  building,  the  room 
was  upon  a  level  with  the  street  without,  the  walls  being 
of  "stout  stones"  and  the  ceiling  formed  by  beams  upon 
which  rested  the  flooring  of  the  House  of  Lords.  Twas 
in  this  room  the  conspirators  proposed  to  place  the  six 
and  thirty  barrels  of  gunpowder,  and — Parliament  being 
in  session — to  apply  a  spark  to  the  slumbering  power  by 
which  those  who  occupied  the  room  above  would  be 
blown  heavenward  with  such  scant  ceremony  that  none 


168  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

among  them  should  have  time  to  cry :  "Good  Lord,  have 
mercy  upon  us!  Amen!" 

In  selecting  the  house  against  the  east  wall  of  the 
Peer's  meeting  place,  Percy  had  acted  with  some  wisdom. 
The  Thames  was  the  silent  highway  of  London,  and  did 
a  boat  stop  beside  the  river  entrance  of  the  dwelling,  none 
would  be  likely  to  take  any  note  thereof,  nor  to  think 
it  matter  of  suspicion  for  one  who  occupied  the  place  to 
use  the  water  as  means  of  conveying  such  commodities  as 
he  chose  to  his  storeroom  or  cellar.  In  this  manner  the 
powder  stored  under  the  guardianship  of  Master  Keyes 
was  removed  by  night  to  the  second  storage  place,  that 
it  might  be  in  readiness  when  the  time  arrived  for  placing 
it  beneath  the  floor  of  Parliament.  Many  persons  dwelt 
in  the  neighborhood;  in  the  vicinity  were  clustered  the 
houses  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Wardrobe,  auditors  and  tell- 
ers of  the  Exchequer,  and  many  other  officials  of  the 
government,  any  of  whom  might  notice  the  barge  lying 
close  at  the  edge  of  the  garden  on  the  river  front,  and 
the  men  carrying  from  it  to  the  house  divers  packages, 
but  it  was  not  probable  that  they  would.  None,  unless 
having  business  with  Master  Percy,  would  approach  the 
door,  nor  enter  the  garden,  much  less  question  the  car- 
riers concerning  that  which  they  removed  so  carefully. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  the  tenth  day  after  the  visit  of 
Percy  and  Sir  Thomas  to  Master  Keyes  that  the  six  and 
thirty  barrels — twenty-four  hundred  pounds — of  powder 
were  safely  stored  in  the  building  next  the  Parliament 
House. 

But  ere  this  was  accomplished,  those  who  had  under- 
taken the  digging  of  the  tunnel  began  their  work.  Under 
cover  of  the  darkness,  Catesby,  Wright,  Percy,  Winter 
and  Fawkes,  entered  the  house  leased  by  the  Gentleman- 


THE    CELLAR.  169 

Pensioner,  and  being  provided  with  a  goodly  quantity  of 
baked  meats  and  other  necessaries,  that  nothing  should 
arise  to  call  them  abroad,  they  began  their  work  upon  the 
brick  wall  beyond  which  lay  the  masonry  proper  of  the 
House. 

Of  the  five,  four  were  gentlemen  of  blood,  to  whom  the 
handling  of  pick  and  bar  came  not  so  readily.  To 
Fawkes,  skilled  through  long  service  in  foreign  lands, 
where  the  undermining  of  walls  and  fortifications  was  a 
common  occupation,  it  fell  to  direct  the  work,  although 
in  actual  digging  he  took  small  part,  it  having  been 
agreed  that  he  should  serve  as  watchman,  warn  the  others 
did  any  approach  the  garden,  or  danger  arise  from  sounds 
in  the  cellar  reaching  the  ears  of  those  whose  curiosity 
might  bring  unwelcome  investigation  as  to  so  strange 
a  proceeding.  Crowded  as  they  were  in  the  narrow 
space,  the  four  conspirators,  with  doublets  cast  aside  and 
limbs  weary  from  their  unusual  occupation,  plied  drill 
and  crowbar,  enlivening  their  toil  by  discourse  upon  the 
subject  of  the  undertaking,  and  stopping  ever  and  anon 
to  refresh  themselves  with  ale,  or  wine. 

"Faith!"  said  Sir  Thomas,  looking  woefully  upon  his 
begrimed  hands  and  vestment,  "  'tis  a  sorry  thing  to  play 
the  mole,  when  a  sword  thrust  delivered  from  behind  a 
curtain,  or  the  stroke  of  a  poniard,  would  as  well  free  us 
of  these  tyrants." 

"  'Twere  perchance  easier,"  replied  Percy,  driving  his 
drill  through  the  last  layer  of  bricks  which  stood  between 
them  and  the  second  wall.  "I,  for  one,  would  choose  the 
Lord  to  give  me  work  under  an  open  sky,  where  there  be 
less  dust  to  blind  the  eyes  and  stifle  the  breath." 

Catesby  laughed  harshly.  "Could  Garnet  hear  thee," 
said  he,  "a  discourse  of  patience  would  soon  be  forthcom- 


170  THE   FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

ing.  To  your  work,  gentlemen ;  we  have  already  pierced 
one  wall." 

An  exclamation  from  Wright  interrupted  them. 

"By  the  wounds,"  he  growled,  throwing  down  his 
crowbar  with  much  show  of  temper,  ''one  wall,  indeed;  a 
paper  covering  compared  with  this,"  and  taking  the  bar 
again  drove  its  point  with  great  force  against  the  one 
now  exposed,  belonging  to  the  House. 

The  iron  rebounded  from  the  solid  masonry  as  though 
driven  against  a  sheet  of  steel,  for  the  flinty  stone  turned 
it  easily,  and  only  a  shower  of  sparks  answered  the  blow. 

"What  hast  thou  there?"  asked  Winter. 

"The  gate  of  hell,"  retorted  Wright,  kicking  the  bar 
with  his  foot,  "nine  feet  of  it,  by  Master  Percy's  compu- 
tation, and,  I  warrant,  as  many  years  will  be  required  to 
see  the  further  side.  Try  it,  good  Caiesby,  'tis  a  nut  a 
giant  could  scarce  crack,  though  he  wield  a  battering 
ram." 

Taking  up  a  lantern  which  stood  by  the  wall,  Catesby 
examined  the  masonry  with  great  carefulness. 

"Thou  shouldst  have  struck  the  mortar/'  said  he,  tap- 
ping the  cement  between  the  blocks  of  stone  with  the 
point  of  his  drill,  "wouldst  tear  away  the  rock  itself?" 

For  some  moments  he  worked  diligently,  streaming 
with  perspiration  and  his  loud  breathing  filling  the  nar- 
row place.  A  hole  scarce  three  inches  deep  rewarded  his 
exertions. 

"  Tis  well  reasoned,"  growled  he  at  length,  "here  is  a 
riddle  for  Master  Fawkes;  wilt  summon  him,  friend 
Percy?" 

Glad  for  an  excuse  to  leave  for  a  moment  the  ill-sav- 
ored cellar,  Percy  hastened  on  his  errand,  and  Fawkes 
presently  entered,  looking  keenly  about. 


THE    CELLAR.  171 

"What  now,  gentlemen?"  said  he,  "hast  made  an  open- 
ing?" 

"That  have  we  not,  save  through  this  wall  of  brick/' 
replied  Catesby,  "methinks  thy  gunpowder  could  scarce 
open  a  further  way,  friend  Guido.  Look  thou  at  yon 
barrier  of  stone." 

Taking  the  lantern,  Fawkes  followed  the  suggestion. 
"  Tis,  in  truth,  most  strongly  put  together,"  said  he  at 
length,  "but  with  due  patience  and  diligence  this  also 
may  be  overcome.  Give  me  a  drill." 

Having  received  one  from  the  hand  of  Winter  he  at- 
tacked the  masonry,  striking  here,  picking  there,  until, 
having  loosened  a  goodly  portion  of  cement,  he  caught 
up  a  heavy  crowbar,  and  inserting  its  point  into  the  nar- 
row opening,  bore  down  upon  the  iron  with  all  his 
strength  and  the  block  of  stone,  freed  from  its  fastening, 
was  detached  and  fell  with  a  dull  crash  upon  the  floor  at 
his  feet. 

The  soldier  of  fortune  wiped  his  brow.  "  'Tis  of  the 
smallest,"  said  he,  "but  the  others  will  give  way  in  turn. 
Thou  must  first  be  sure  that  the  mortar  is  removed,  when, 
using  sufficient  force,  the  rocks  will  loosen,  thus  making 
the  hole  larger." 

"There  be  too  few  of  us,"  said  Winter.  "I  think  some 
word  should  be  sent  to  my  brother  Robert,  that  he  join 
us  in  this  business,  and  also  Master  Keyes,  who  being 
a  man  of  much  resource,  and,  perchance,  skilled  in  such 
labor  as  this,  may  aid  us  much." 

"Can  he  be  trusted  in  so  dangerous  a  venture?"  asked 
Wright.  "Of  thy  brother  Robert  there  is  no  fear,  but 
what  of  this  Master  Keyes?" 

"Friend  Guido  will  answer  for  his  loyalty,"  replied 
Winter;  "the  man  is  reliable,  though  his  zeal  turneth  to 


172  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

the  securing  of  money.  Already  have  I  examined  him, 
and  found  that  within  his  mind  lay  some  suspicion  as  to 
our  object  in  collecting  such  a  quantity  of  powder.  For 
recompense  he  will  dig  most  industriously,  and  promise 
of  reward  when  our  mission  is  accomplished  will  make 
him  dumb.  Thou  hast  my  word  upon  it." 

"Then,"  said  Catesby,  "let  him  be  summoned  hither, 
and  thy  brother  also;  much  labor  lies  before  us;  seven 
men  can  scarce  accomplish  it,  and  we  are  now  but  five." 

It  was  agreed  that  on  the  following  night  Fawkes 
should  bring  Keyes  and  Robert  Winter  to  the  cellar, 
when,  with  a  greater  number  to  labor,  the  work  of  forcing 
a  passage  through  the  wall  could  be  accomplished  more 
rapidly.  In  the  meantime,  being  excessively  wearied,  the 
conspirators  left  the  cellar  and  sought  repose. 

Two  weeks  passed.  The  excavation  in  the  wall  of  the 
Parliament  House  had  increased  day  by  day,  until  a  hole 
some  five  or  six  feet  in  length,  large  enough  to  admit  the 
body  of  a  man,  was  bored  through  the  solid  masonry. 
With  the  assistance  of  the  two  additional  members  to 
their  little  party  the  conspirators  worked  with  renewed 
energy.  Filled  with  enthusiasm  they  had  little  sense  of 
fatigue,  and  plied  pick  and  drill  vigorously  that  they 
might  gain  entrance  to  the  room  beneath  the  lord's  cham- 
ber before  the  convening  of  Parliament,  which,  as  Percy 
learned,  was  to  take  place  on  the  fifth  of  November. 
Confident  that  their  work  was  appointed  by  God,  those 
men  of  gentle  blood  curbed  their  impatience,  though 
laborious  and  slow  was  the  task,  and  every  muscle  and 
bone  ached  when  the  tools  were  laid  aside.  For  a  time 
the  disposal  of  the  earth  and  rock  taken  from  the  tunnel 
puzzled  them,  but  Fawkes  with  characteristic  quickness 


THE    CELLAR.  173 

found  a  way; — such  of  the  debris  as  would  attract  little 
attention  was  scattered  about  the  garden;  as  for  the 
larger  rocks  and  mortar,  the  river  was  close  at  hand,  and, 
as  Robert  Keyes  had  said,  it  told  no  tales. 

So  they  worked,  beguiling  the  weary  hours  with  dis- 
cussions as  to  what  would  follow  the  success  of  their 
project.  England  would  be  without  a  king;  the  machin- 
ery of  the  government  shattered,  and  the  way  would  be 
open  for  seating  a  Catholic  upon  the  throne.  Prince 
Henry,  successor  to  the  crown,  would  perish  with  his 
father  and  the  peers  in  Parliament.  They  would  seize  the 
royal  heirs  who  remained,  Prince  Charles  and  the  Prin- 
cess Elizabeth,  hold  them  in  durance,  while  the  Catholics 
would  choose  the  heir-apparent  and  appoint  a  Protector 
for  the  kingdom.  It  was  a  daring  plan  and  the  prospect 
of  its  execution  lightened  their  toil,  and  intensified  the 
flame  of  their  zeal. 

Somewhat  near  the  middle  of  the  day,  when,  having 
ceased  for  a  moment  the  attack  upon  the  wall,  Wright, 
who  had  remained  in  the  tunnel  after  the  others  had  gone 
out,  rushed  wildly  forth,  his  face  pale  under  its  coat  of 
dust  and  his  limbs  trembling  strangely. 

"What  aileth  thee?"  cried  Catesby,  alarmed  at  his  com- 
panion's aspect,  "hath  the  wall  fallen  in  upon 

"Nay,"  replied  Wright  with  harsh  voice,  "but  I  go  in 
no  more;  the  devil  hath  seized  this  tunnel,  and " 

Catesby  entered  quickly,  and  in  a  moment  was  at  the 
end  of  the  narrow  aperture.  On  either  side  arose  the 
rough  masonry,  torn  and  ragged  where  the  stones  had 
been  forced  apart ;  upon  a  heap  of  debris  stood  Wright's 
lantern,  burning  dimly,  beside  it  his  heavy  drill  and  ham- 
mer. Catesby  looked  hurriedly  about,  but  all  was  silent ; 
the  air  was  hot  and  stifling  and  the  smoke  from  the  Ian- 


174  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

tern  filled  his  nostrils.  He  turned  to  retrace  his  steps, 
with  rough  words  for  Wright  upon  his  lips,  when  a  faint 
sound  fell  upon  his  ears;  an  unearthly  thing,  which  start- 
led him  and  sent  to  his  heart  a  thrill  of  superstitious  ter- 
ror. 'Twas  a  measured  tinkling,  as  of  a  silver  bell,  which 
rose  and  fell  with  steady  cadence.  Instinctively  his  hand 
went  to  his  left  hip,  but  the  familiar  hilt  was  absent;  he 
had  left  it  in  the  room  above,  guarded  by  Robert  Winter, 
who  watched  with  Fawkes. 

Snatching  from  his  bosom  a  small  silver  vial  filled  with 
holy  water,  the  trembling  conspirator  sprinkled  a  few 
drops  upon  the  walls — the  tinkling  ceased,  and  from  the 
entrance  behind  sounded  the  voice  of  Percy: 

"What  hast  thou  found,  good  Catesby,  a  goblin, 
or " 

The  answer  of  the  other  was  upon  his  lips  when,  above 
his  head,  apparently  from  the  center  of  the  solid  masonry 
itself,  came  a  sound  as  of  the  rushing  of  mighty  waters, 
which  continued  for  a  short  space  of  time,  then  died  away. 
The  noise  reached  the  ears  of  those  in  the  room  without, 
and  it  needed  not  the  white  face  of  Catesby  showing  in 
the  opening  to  send  them  upon  their  knees  with  prayers 
to  the  Virgin  for  protection.  At  that  moment  Fawkes 
appeared  among  them. 

"What  now?"  said  he  gruffly,  much  amazed  at  so 
strange  a  sight,  "think  ye,  good  gentlemen,  that  praying 
will  cause  the  stones  to  separate?" 

"Brave  Guido!"  cried  Winter  with  trembling  voice, 
"either  this  place  is  bewitched  or  our  plans  discovered; 
we  have  heard " 

The  renewal  of  the  noise  interrupted  him.  Fawkes  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  hilt  and,  with  his  lips  pressed  close  to- 
gether, thrust  his  head  into  the  entrance  of  the  tunnel. 


THE    CELLAR.  175 

For  a  moment  he  remained  silent,  then  turned  with  a  grim 
look  upon  his  face. 

"  Tis  from  the  place  which  we  strive  to  reach,"  said 
he  shortly;  "go  ye  to  the  room  above,  while  I  learn  its 
meaning;"  and  without  more  delay  he  left  the  cellar,  fol- 
lowed by  his  terror-stricken  companions. 

Disguised  in  the  dress  of  a  common  porter  there  was 
little  danger  in  his  venturing  abroad.  After  an  absence  of 
about  an  hour,  he  returned  to  the  six  conspirators. 

"Faith!"  said  he,  tossing  his  cap  upon  the  table,  "thou 
mayst  lay  aside  thy  tools,  Sir  Thomas,  ai.d  the  others 
likewise." 

"And  wherefore?"  asked  Percy  with  bloodless  lips. 
"Are  we  then  discovered?  If  so,  I  will  die  with  sword  in 
hand " 

"Speak  not  of  dying,"  replied  Fawkes,  a  smile  passing 
over  his  face;  "rather  set  thy  wits  to  working.  Thou  art 
good  at  bargaining;  hire  for  us,  therefore,  this  cellar 
beneath  the  House  of  Parliament." 

The  Catholic  gentlemen  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment, 
wondering  if  some  sudden  terror  had  beclouded  his  brain; 
or,  did  the  man  but  jest  with  them?" 

"Hire  the  chamber  under  Parliament  House?"  gasped 
Catesby,  "as  well  might  good  Percy  bargain  for  the  royal 
prerogative  of  James." 

"Ye  think  me  mad,"  said  Fawkes,  "but  listen.  After 
leaving  you  I  made  my  way  with  all  haste  to  the  door  of 
the  Parliament  cellar,  which  was  open,  and  discovered 
the  meaning  of  the  noise  which  reached  us  in  the  tunnel; 
— 'twas  the  sliding  downward  of  a  goodly  quantity  of 
coal,  owned  by  a  woman  of  some  property  called  Bright, 
a  dealer  in  coals  and  faggots.  She  being  present,  attend- 
ing to  the  removal  of  her  own,  I  addressed  her  and 


176  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

learned  that,  having  hired  the  cellar  from  the  authorities, 
she  was  about  to  give  it  over  to  them. 

"  'And  is't  for  rent?'  asked  I. 

"  'That  it  is,'  replied  she;  'for  he  who  hath  the  renting 
of  it,  one  Whynniard,  by  name,  did  offer  it  for  the  com- 
ing quarter,  but  it  pleaseth  me  to  store  my  coals  else- 
where.' 

"Thou  seest,  therefore,  that  this  room  is  for  us  if  we  do 
choose,  and  Master  Percy,  well  versed  in  such  matters, 
has  but  to  bespeak  this  Whynniard  and  possession  will 
be  given  of  a  most  valuable  corner  of  the  House  of  Par- 
liament." 

This  sudden  turn  of  fortune  rendered  the  conspirators 
for  the  moment  speechless.  Winter  was  the  first  to  re- 
gain his  balance. 

"It  shall  be  done,"  cried  he;  "right  glad  am  I  that  such 
a  chance  hath  come  to  us.  Good  Master  Percy,  bestir 
thyself,  before  another  seize  the  opportunity." 

To  all,  it  seemed  that  the  hand  of  God  had  opened  a 
way  for  them,  and  Percy  made  haste  to  do  his  errand, 
and  with  such  success,  that  ere  another  sunrise  the  room 
beneath  the  House  of  Lords  was  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  hoped  to  overthrow  the  government. 

Having  gained  so  easily  the  place  they  had  sought  to 
acquire  by  stealth  and  painful  labor,  the  conspirators  at 
once  set  about  conveying  into  it  the  powder  now  stored 
in  the  house  of  Master  Ferrers.  Fawkes,  to  whom  this 
work  fell,  bought,  and  ordered  deposited  in  the  chamber, 
a  goodly  quantity  of  coals  and  faggots,  so  that  one  chanc- 
ing to  enter  would  note  only  a  pile  of  such  commodities 
as  dealers  in  fuel  collected  for  sale.  Care  was  taken  that 
the  unfinished  tunnel  in  the  wall  should  be  covered  so  that 
none  would  notice  it.  This  was  easily  done  by  replacing 


THE    CELLAR.  177 

a  few  of  the  outer  stones  and  cementing  them  together. 
Some  days  yet  remained  before  the  opening  of  Parlia- 
ment; during  that  time  Percy,  Catesby,  Winter  and 
others  of  the  conspirators,  formed  such  plans  as  would 
be  to  their  advantage  when  the  kingdom,  shaken  to  its 
center  by  the  death  of  the  King  and  his  ministers,  should 
be  thrown  into  confusion.  As  for  Fawkes,  each  day 
found  him  in  the  fatal  cellar,  where  he  studied  the  con- 
dition of  his  coals  and  faggots,  making  sure  that  no  pry- 
ing eye  had  penetrated  the  covering,  under  which  was 
hidden  the  "devil's  powder"  awaiting  the  spark  which 
would  free  English  Catholics  from  James  of  Scotland  and 
his  Parliament. 


178  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE    NOTE    OF    WARNING. 

During  the  last  week  of  October,  sixteen  hundred  and 
five,  near  the  day  for  the  convening  of  Parliament,  Lord 
Monteagle  suddenly  appeared  in  his  house  at  Hoxton, 
from  which  he  had  been  absent  a  month.  His  manner 
was  perturbed  and  preoccupied  in  the  extreme.  Usually 
of  a  genial  disposition,  he  surprised  the  servants  who  at- 
tended him,  by  an  impatient  order  that  supper  be  served 
at  once,  as  he  and  the  gentlemen  accompanying  him  had 
already  fasted  too  long. 

Soon  after  seven  in  the  evening  he  dispatched  a  foot- 
man upon  an  errand  into  the  neighboring  street.  This 
man  shortly  returned  in  haste,  presenting  to  his  lordship 
a  sealed  letter,  addressed,  in  a  cramped  hand,  to  "The 
Right  Honorable,  the  Lord  Monteagle." 

He  received  the  missive,  handling  it  in  a  fastidious 
manner,  and  inquired  with  some  show  of  spirit  how  it 
had  come  through  a  servant,  instead  of  being  delivered  in 
the  usual  way. 

"  Twas  given  me,"  replied  the  footman,  "by  a  reasona- 
bly tall  person  who  stood  upon  a  corner  of  the  street,  and 
directed  with  much  semblance  of  authority  that  I  give  it 
into  thy  lordship's  hand  and  to  no  other." 

"  'Tis  a  most  unwonted  thing,"  said  Monteagle,  break- 
ing the  seal,  "probably  some  petition  for  alms  which " 

Then,  on  glancing  over  the  sheet,  he  started,  and 
turned  to  a  gentleman  beside  him. 

"Good  Thomas  Ward,"  said  he,  "  'tis  written  in  a  most 


THE    NOTE    OF    WARNING.  179 

illegible  and  wretched  hand  which  I  can  scarce  decipher; 
neither  bears  it  any  date  or  superscription.  I  pray  thee 
take  and  read  aloud,  that  all  may  hear  and  pass  opinion 
upon  so  strange  a  matter." 

Ward  accepted  the  paper,  and  smoothed  it  out  upon 
his  hand.  "It  seems  the  writing  of  a  laborer,"  said  he, 
"one  who  doth  wield  a  pick  and  spade  with  more  ease 
than  a  quill.  A  most  unmannerly  jumble  of  ill-condi- 
tioned words,  as  thou  shalt  judge,  my  lord,  upon  hear- 
ing." So  saying  he  read  aloud  as  follows,  while  the  others 
sat  and  listened : 

"My  lord  out  of  the  love  I  beare  to  some  of  youer 
friends  I  have  a  cayer  of  youer  preservation  therefor  I 
would  advyse  yowe  as  yowe  tender  youer  lyfe  to  devyse 
some  excuse  to  shift  of  youer  attendance  at  this  parlea- 
ment  for  God  and  man  hathe  concurred  to  punishe  the 
wickedness  of  this  tyme  and  thinke  not  slyghtly  of  this 
advertisment  but  retyre  youer  selfe  into  youer  country 
where  yowe  may  expect  the  event  in  safty  for  though 
there  be  no  appearcnce  of  any  stir  yet  I  say  they  shall 
receyve  a  terrible  blowe  this  parleament,  and  yet  they 
shall  not  see  who  hurts  them.  Thys  cowncel  is  not  to  be 
condemed  because  it  may  do  yowe  good  and  can  do 
yowe  no  harm,  for  the  danger  is  passed  as  soon  as  yowe 
have  burnt  the  letter,  and  I  hope  God  will  gyve  yowe  the 
grace  to  make  good  use  of  it  to  whose  holy  protection  I 
commend  yowe." 

"A  most  amazing  document,"  said  Ward,  as  he  re- 
turned it  to  Monteagle;  and  what  think  you  of  it,  my 
lord?  canst  detect  the  meaning  of  so  strange  a  warning?" 

His  lordship  contracted  his  brow  and  studied  the  writ- 


l8o  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

ing  with  much  attention.  "  Tis  as  you  perceive,"  said  he, 
"a  warning  unto  me  that  some  unexplained  danger  lies 
in  the  way." 

"A  boorish  jest,"  cried  one  at  the  table;  "think  not 
upon  it,  my  lord." 

"Which  is  proved  beyond  doubt  by  the  action  of  the 
one  who  brought  it,"  said  another;  "he  dared  not  deliver 
it  at  the  door." 

Monteagle  folded  the  letter  carefully  and  thrust  it 
inside  his  doublet.  There  arose  in  his  mind  suspicion 
that  in  the  tenor  of  the  message  lay  the  verification  of  the 
warning  to  Lord  Salisbury,  and  that,  mayhap,  beneath 
the  apparent  serenity  of  the  kingdom,  smoldered  a  vol- 
cano which  needed  but  the  touch  of  a  directing  master 
hand  to  send  belching  forth  its  contents  of  treason  and 
blood.  Into  his  mind  came  also  the  words  of  the  Prime 
Minister  spoken  one  afternoon  several  months  before, 
that  should  aught  be  unfolded  of  plots  or  treasonable  de- 
signs, they  should  be  disclosed  to  him,  and  thus  the  dan- 
ger to  the  State  be  averted. 

He  had  therefore  a  feeling  of  relief  when  the  meal  was 
ended,  and  his  companions  left  him  to  carry  out  his  in- 
tention. The  raw  October  night  was  filled  with  storm 
and  blackness,  but  the  spirit  of  Lord  Monteagle  burned 
within  him  to  lay  before  Salisbury  and,  perchance,  the 
King,  the  warning  which-  had  come  to  him. 

Scarce  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  after  rising  from 
the  table  ere,  covered  by  a  great  cloak,  booted,  and  with 
a  stout  rapier  girt  at  his  side,  he  left  Hoxton  House  un- 
noticed, and  turned  his  steps  toward  the  dwelling  of  the 
Prime  Minister.  Although  the  hour  was  late  Cecil  had 
not  retired  when  he  received  the  announcement  that 
Monteagle  sought  an  interview.  Surprised  at  so  unusual 


THE    NOTE    OF    WARNING.  181 

an  occurrence  the  Minister  hastened  to  greet  his  visitor, 
ordering,  as  was  his  custom,  that  a  light  repast  be  set 
before  him. 

"And  what  now,  good  Monteagle?"  asked  he,  looking 
at  his  companion  with  a  smile,  "hast  thy  digestion  played 
thee  false  again?" 

"Of  that  thou  shalt  judge,  my  lord,"  replied  Monteagle, 
taking  the  letter  from  his  doublet  and  handing  it  to  the 
Minister. 

Salisbury  mastered  its  contents  with  an  aptness  peculiar 
to  himself. 

"Faith!"  said  he,  letting  his  eyes  rest  searchingly  upon 
the  face  of  his  companion,  "and  how  earnest  thou  by  this 
thing,  my  good  lord?" 

Monteagle  related  briefly  the  scene  at  the  supper  table. 

"And  didst  thou  have  the  letter  read  aloud,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  thy  gentlemen?"  asked  the  Minister. 

"Its  contents  were  unknown  to  me,"  replied  the  other; 
"the  writing  was  obscure  and  I  did  request  Thomas  Ward 
to  decipher  it." 

Salisbury  pondered  for  a  moment.  The  warning  of 
danger  threatening  those  who  would  sit  at  the  opening 
of  the  coming  Parliament  perplexed  him,  and  drawing 
nearer  to  a  light  he  studied  the  letter  carefully. 

"Thou  hast  done  well,"  said  he,  suddenly  turning  to 
Monteagle,  "in  placing  this  paper  in  my  hands  without 

delay,  yet "  he  laid  a  finger  on  the  letter,  "perchance 

'tis  nothing,  or — there  may  be  much  behind  these  ill- 
written  lines.  Thou  perceivest  that  herein  is  written: 
'for  the  danger  is  passed  as  soon  as  you  have  burned  the 
letter!'  What  then  can  be  the  use  of  such  a  warning?  as, 
hadst  thou  put  the  sheet  to  fire,  there  had  been  no  dan- 
ger." 


182  THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER. 

'  Tis  beyond  my  comprehension,"  replied  Monteagle, 
"  'tis  a  riddle." 

Salisbury  looked  up  quickly.  Despite  his  assumed  in- 
difference at  the  time,  the  former  conversation  with  the 
ex-Catholic  nobleman  had  aroused  in  his  mind  suspicions 
that  some  danger  might  lurk  beneath  the  calm  which 
had  lulled  the  King  into  a  feeling  of  security.  He  under- 
stood well  that,  although  there  had  been  no  open  mani- 
festations of  treason  on  the  part  of  zealous  adherents  to 
the  Catholic  faith  in  England,  there  were  among  them 
men  who  but  awaited  opportunity  to  show  in  no  gentle 
way,  their  displeasure  at  the  policy  of  James.  He  re- 
membered also,  that  Monteagle  had  been  a  Catholic, 
though  now  a  firm  partisan  of  the  government  and  in  high 
favor  at  Whitehall.  Might  it  not  be  possible  that  some 
knowledge  coming  to  him  of  a  plot  against  the  State, 
and,  not  wishing  to  openly  accuse  his  former  compatriots, 
he  had  taken  a  more  subtle  way,  seeking  by  veiled  warn- 
ings and  hints,  to  arouse  suspicion  in  the  other's  mind, 
and  so  lead  to  some  action  on  the  part  of  the  govern- 
ment? Yet,  it  was  not  in  accordance  with  his  policy  to 
reveal  his  real  thoughts;  therefore,  again  thanking  the 
other  for  his  zeal  with  reference  to  the  letter,  he  dismissed 
him  with  a  promise  that  the  matter  should  not  be  for- 
gotten. 

After  Monteagle  had  left  he  again  studied  the  missive, 
endeavoring  to  read  between  the  lines,  and  bringing  all 
his  wit  to  bear  upon  the  meaning.  Then,  as  it  was  his 
custom  to  work  quietly  and  without  haste,  for  six  days 
he  held  the  document  before  making  it  known  to  the 
King. 

James  was  at  first  alarmed,  but  upon  perceiving  that 
the  Minister  retained  his  calmness,  he  put  aside  his  fears 


THE    NOTE-  OF    WARNING.  183 

and  questioned  Salisbury  closely  concerning  the  meaning 
of  the  strange  warning.  In  the  latter's  mind  was  no 
thought  of  arousing  James  to  hasty  action,  for,  if  in  truth 
a  plot  was  brewing,  too  sudden  a  movement  on  the  part 
of  the  government  would  warn  those  engaged  in  it,  and 
only  postpone  the  culmination  to  a  more  favorable  op- 
portunity. Following  this  line  of  thought  the  Prime 
Minister  calmed  the  sovereign's  fears,  and  the  King, 
trusting  to  the  prudence  and  shrewdness  of  his  chief 
counselor,  dismissed  the  matter  with  a  jest. 

Report,  indeed,  reached  the  ears  of  Winter,  Catesby 
and  others  of  the  conspirators,  that  Lord  Monteagle  had 
been  warned  to  absent  himself  from  Parliament  on  the 
opening  day.  They  were  alarmed  for  a  time,  and  sought 
solution  of  the  problem,  wishing  to  know  who  had  played 
the  traitor.  Suspicion  pointed  to  one  Francis  Tresham, 
whose  sister  had  married  Monteagle,  and  who,  naturally, 
would  seek  to  save  his  brother-in-law.  But  as  Tresham 
denied  all  knowledge  of  the  matter,  the  government  made 
no  move,  and  even  Salisbury,  usually  alert,  remained  in- 
active. After  a  week  of  uncertainty,  the  conspirators 
again  gathered  their  forces  and  the  plot  against  the  King 
and  Parliament  continued  to  ripen.  Fawkes,  beyond  all 
others,  became  more  reckless. 

"Should  all  else  fail,"  said  he,  "I  remain  firm;  and  at 
the  end  will  kill  this  King  even,  if  needful,  in  the  royal 
bedchamber. 


184  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
ON    THE    STROKE    OF    ELEVEN. 

"What,  my  daughter,  up  at  this  late  hour!"  exclaimed 
Fawkes,  as  he  entered  the  room  where  Elinor  sat.  "I 
had  deemed  thee  long  abed." 

The  man  threw  himself  into  a  chair  by  the  fire  with  an 
air  of  fatigue,  and  sat  in  moody  silence.  The  girl  glanced 
up;  then  arising,  passed  over  to  him  and  lightly  kissed 
his  brow. '  The  caress  did  not  meet  with  any  response ;  in 
fact,  he  seemed  scarcely  conscious  of  it,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  Elinor  resumed  her  seat. 

She  had  led  a  strange  existence  for  the  past  eight 
months; — ever  waiting,  ever  dreading,  and  as  yet  noth- 
ing had  occurred.  To  her  this  period  had  been  one  of 
breathless  suspense,  like  the  moment  before  the  storm, 
when  trees  hang  lifeless  in  a  stifling  atmosphere,  and 
animals  raise  their  heads  in  frightened  expectancy,  await- 
ing with  nameless  terror  the  first  gust  which  shall  herald 
the  tornado.  Since  her  father's  return  from  France,  she 
noted  that  the  air  of  preoccupation  apparent  before  his 
departure,  was  now  intensified.  While  in  his  kindness 
toward  her  the  girl  could  detect  no  change,  still,  there 
had  come  between  them  a  species  of  estrangement.  Sel- 
dom was  there  an  opportunity  for  them  to  converse,  for 
Fawkes  was  up  before  daylight,  and  rarely  returned  until 
after  the  midnight  hour  had  sounded.  Often  it  was  in 
her  heart  to  ask  his  confidence — often  to  hint  that  she 
had  overheard  his  words  on  that  fearful  night, — but  when 


ON    THE    STROKE    OF    ELEVEN.  185 

she  approached  with  such  intent,  a  nameless  something 
in  his  manner  held  her  mute. 

The  source  from  which  she  had  hop'ed  would  flow 
sweet  waters  of  comfort  and  relief  proved  dry  and  arid 
as  summer  dust;  he  to  whom  in  an  outburst  of  anguish 
she  had  confided  her  grief  vanished  completely  from  her 
life,  as  though  the  earth  had  engulfed  him.  True,  Garnet 
visited  her  many  times  after  the  night  she  unburdened 
her  heart  to  him,  but  his  counsel  was  ever  the  same — to 
wait;  at  times  she  even  imagined  there  was  in  his  tones 
a  hint  at  justification  of  her  father's  utterance.  However, 
since  the  day  on  which  Fawkes  had  returned,  the  Jesuit 
had  never  passed  the  threshold  of  the  house.  How  to 
account  for  this  absence  she  knew  not,  but  in  a  vague 
way  associated  it  with  the  mystery  surrounding  her  father. 

Winter,  Elinor  had  not  seen ;  her  wonder  at  his  studi- 
ous avoidance  of  her  was  matched  by  the  terror  with 
which  she  anticipated  meeting  him.  And  her  first  grief? 
— the  forced  sacrifice  of  life's  happiness  with  the  man  she 
loved — had  time  been  kind,  and  stilled  the  aching  of  her 
heart?  No;  for  in  it  the  flame  burned  as  brightly  as  when 
upon  that  day,  long  ago,  his  first  kiss  had  breathed  upon 
the  glowing  spark,  changing  it  into  a  tongue  of  flame 
which  leaped  to  her  very  lips.  Where  Effmgston  had 
gone,  she  did  not  know,  but  her  prayers  were  ever  the 
same,  that  in  the  abyss  wherein  lay  her  own  fair  fame  he 
should  cast  his  love; — so  grief  for  him  would  cease  to 
exist. 

At  last  the  silence  of  the  room  was  broken  by  the  man 
before  the  fire,  who  turned  toward  her,  and,  as  if  but 
just  noting  her  presence,  said,  drowsily:  "Daughter,  me- 
thinks  such  late  hours  ill  befit  thee.  It  hath  long  since 
struck  twelve;  thou  hast  already  lost  thy  beauty  sleep." 

18 


186  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

Elinor  arose,  laid  aside  the  work  with  which  she  had 
been  employed,  passed  over  to  Fawkes,  then  stooped  and 
kissed  him.  As  her  lips  touched  his,  he  reached  up,  took 
her  face  between  his  hands  and  gazing  at  her  said,  after  a 
moment:  "My  pretty  one,  if  at  any  time  death  should 
take  thy  father  from  thee,  wouldst  ever  cease  to  love 
him?" 

The  girl  started;  for  the  words  had  broken  strangely 
in  upon  her  thoughts.  Evidently  the  man  beheld  the 
shocked  look,  for  he  continued,  putting  his  arm  about  her 
slight  form  and  pressing  it  close  to  him,  "Nay,  my  daugh- 
ter, thou  needst  not  be  alarmed  at  what  I  say,  for — for 
'twas  nothing.  Thou  knowest  in  years  I  do  grow  apace, 
and  'twould  be  small  wonder  if  death  did  perchance 
tap  me  on  the  shoulder  and  say,  Thou  art  the  man!' 
There,  there,  little  one,"  he  added  kissing  her,  "thou 
needst  not  reply;  I  can  read  an  answer  in  thy  eyes." 

"And,  prithee,  didst  ever  doubt  my  love  for  thee?" 
whispered  the  girl,  as  she  gently  placed  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"Nay,  never!"  answered  Fawkes,  quickly,  in  a  husky 
voice,  "but — but  'tis  sweet  to  hear  thee  tell  thy  love,  and," 
he  added,  taking  one  of  her  white  hands  within  his  own, 
"thou  art  all  I  have.  If  at  any  time  death  should  steal 
thee  from  thy  father's  arms,  methinks  he  would  soon 
follow  in  thy  light  footsteps." 

"Much  happiness  it  doth  give  me  to  hear  from  thee 
such  words,"  the  girl  replied,  "even  though  they  have  but 
solemn  import." 

"And  dost  thy  father's  affection  need  repetition? 
Surely,  thou  knowest  'tis  all  thine  own."  For  an  instant 
there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  crackling  logs. 


ON    THE    STROKE    OF    ELEVEN.  187 

Then  the  girl  said,  as  though  dwelling  upon  his  words: 
"Nay,  I  never  doubted  thee — but — but— 

"But  what,  my  daughter?"  Fawkes  asked,  tenderly, 
pressing  her  ringers  to  his  lips. 

"Well,  perchance,"  she  answered  with  a  smile,  "I  did 
but  wish,  like  thee,  to  hear  again  the  confession  of  it." 

His  only  response  was  the  pressing  of  her  figure  closer 
to  his  heart. 

"Tell  me,"  she  began  after  a  moment,  in  a  hesitating 
voice,  casting  a  half-timid  glance  at  her  father's  face; 
"dost  think  one  ever  speaks  words  from  anger  that — well, 
that  in  calmer  moments  he  would  give  a  world  to  unsay?" 

"What  brought  such  question  to  thy  mind,  daughter?" 
enquired  the  other  with  a  smile  of  surprise. 

"Perchance  'tis  but  a  causeless  query,"  she  replied, 
smoothing  his  tumbled  locks. 

"Many  foolish  things  are  spoke  in  passion,"  said 
Fawkes;  "things  which  leave  a  lifetime  of  regret  behind. 
I  do  remember  that  once,  in  this  very  room,  my  temper 
did  o'erleap  its  bounds  and  lent  my  tongue  words  which 
I  would  give  a  year  of  sweet  life  to  unsay.  Dost  know 
my  meaning,  darling?"  he  inquired,  looking  at  her  with 
moisture  in  his  eyes.  '  'Twas  when  I  had  not  long  ar- 
rived from  Spain;  in  truth,  'twas  on  the  very  night  when 
thou " 

"Nay,  I  will  not  hear  thee  repeat,"  she  interrupted,  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  his  mouth.  "I  know  all,  but  thou 
canst  not  think  how  happy  this  doth  make  me." 

"Didst  thou  imagine  I  could  mean  those  wicked 
words?"  asked  the  man  tenderly,  "  Twas  a  sudden  out- 
burst of  temper  on  hearing — well,  well,  since  thy  dainty 
ringers  forbid  my  speech  I  will  be  mute." 

"See!"  cried  Elinor,  springing  to  her  feet,  in  the  first 
is 


l88  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

happiness  of  her  relieved  mind.  "Now  thou  shalt  hear 
me  laugh  and  sing  all  through  the  day,  till  thou  wilt  cry 
mercy.  And  mayhap  some  time  thou  and  I,"  continued 
the  girl,  seating  herself  beside  him,  "shall  leave  this  chilly 
land  with  all  its  cares  and  fly  to  a  fairer  country,  where 
cold  winds  are  not  known,  where  sweet  flowers  do  ever 
bloom,  and  we  will  love  each  other;  in  that,  forget  all 
else,  and  in  forgetting,  be  forever  happy  and  at  rest." 

"Perchance,  some  day,"  murmured  the  man.  "But 
now,  one  more  caress  and  thou  must  to  thy  bed,  or  'twill 
be  light  ere  thou  art  in  dreamland." 

She  arose,  a  bright  smile  upon  her  face — brighter  than 
he  had  seen  resting  there  for  many  a  day. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  once  more  throwing  her  arms  about 
him,  "would  that  I  could  give  to  thee  the  happiness  thy 
words  have  brought  to  me." 

"And  so  thou  canst,"  replied  the  man,  suddenly. 

"How  may  that  be  done? — tell  me  quickly!"  she  ex- 
claimed, playfully,  "that  I  may  the  sooner  begin." 

"It  is,  sweet  Elinor,"  said  Fawkes,  gazing  down  into 
her  eyes,  "that  thou  wilt  always  love  this  man  before 
thee — nay,  even,"  he  continued  with  a  depth  of  feeling  in 
his  tone  which  she  had  never  heard  before,  "even  shouldst 
thou  hear  him  branded  as — as — no  matter  what  manner 
of  things  might  be  uttered  against  him,  thou  art  always 
to  remember  that  he  at  least  loved  thee  with  all  his  heart, 
and  that  thou  wert  his  life."  He  stopped  abruptly;  the 
tears  which  coursed  down  his  stern  face  seemed  strangely 
out  of  place. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "I  cannot  bear  to  have  thee 
doubt  me;  thou  knowest  I  shall  be  ever  thy  loving 
daughter,  even  unto  the  end  of  this  life  and  in  the  next." 

The  man  was  silent  for  a  space;   then  mastering  his 


ON    THE    STROKE    OF    ELEVEN.  189 

emotion,  and  passing  a  hand  quickly  across  his  face,  he 
said:  "Think  naught  of  my  words,  little  one;  they  were 
but  idle,  born  of  fatigue.  Now,  once  more  good  night  to 
thee,  and  a  long,  sweet  sleep." 

So  she  left  him ;  but  at  the  door  she  turned,  and  Fawkes 
remembered  afterward  the  bright  and  happy  smile  which 
lay  upon  her  face. 

With  a  light  heart  she  went  to  rest,  for  her  father's 
words  had  banished  from  her  mind  the  hideous  doubt 
with  which  it  had  so  long  been  oppressed.  The  dreadful 
gulf  between  them  had,  at  last,  been  bridged,  and  once 
more  they  stood  together  hand  in  hand  as  in  days  gone 
by.  She  was  almost  unwilling  to  yield  herself  to  sleep, 
fearing  lest,  on  awaking,  she  might  find  her  happiness  but 
a  vision  of  the  night.  Slumber  claimed  her  at  last,  and 
she  fell  into  dreams  of  her  new-found  joy.  Many  hours 
elapsed  and  the  morning  sun  shone  brightly  into  her 
room,  when  there  fell  upon  the  girl's  ear  the  sound  of 
voices  in  the  apartment  below.  Remaining  a  moment 
in  a  dreamy  state,  wondering  who  the  early  visitors  might 
be,  she  suddenly  caught  a  sentence  which  stiffened  the 
blood  within  her  veins  and  brought  back  to  her  heart  in 
deadly  force  the  awful  fears  she  had  thought  forever  gone. 
Those  in  the  chamber  beneath  had  evidently  been  in  con- 
versation for  some  time,  for  she  heard  them  advancing 
toward  the  door  as  though  to  depart.  Then  a  voice, 
which  the  girl  recognized  as  Sir  Thomas  Winter's,  said 
in  a  low  tone:  "Now,  the  last  arrangements  are  made; 
all  doth  await  thy  hand.  Ah/'  he  continued,  "would  that 
I  might  see  the  outcome  of  this.  Tis  a  ghastly  thing, 
even  though  it  be " 

"What?"  interrupted  another  voice,  which  Elinor  knew 
to  be  her  father's.  "Doth  thy  heart  begin  to  turn  at  this 


190  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

late  hour?  Marry,  my  one  wish  is  that  even  now  the 
clock  stood  on  the  stroke  of  eleven,  for  in  five  minutes 
thereafter  England  will  be  without  its  King  and  Parlia- 
ment." 

"Hast  all  that  thou  wilt  need?"  inquired  Winter. 

"Yea,  verily,"  the  other  answered.  "Here  are  flint 
and  steel,  quite  new.  The  touchwood  and  the  lantern  are 
hidden  beneath  the  faggots  in  the  cellar.  But  stay,  thou 
hadst  better  lend  me  thy  time-piece;  mine  is  not  over 
trustworthy,  and  I  would  keep  accurate  track  of  the  mo- 
ments." 

"Here  is  the  watch,"  said  the  other  voice;  "it  was  true 
to  the  second  yesterday.  And  now,  for  the  last  time, 
dost  fully  understand  the  signal?  It  is  to  be  the  first 
stroke  of  eleven.  The  King  is  expected  at  half  after  the 
hour  of  ten;  that  will  leave  thirty  minutes'  margin,  and 
the  lords  will  have  assembled  before  James  doth  take  his 
place." 

"Knowest  thou,"  inquired  Fawkes,  when  Winter  had 
ceased,  "what  may  be  the  first  measure  before  the 
House?" 

"Methinks,"  replied  the  man,  "one  Lord  Effingston  will 
speak  upon  a  bill  relating  to  the  duty  upon  wool."  And 
he  added,  with  a  laugh  which  the  girl  could  distinctly 
hear,  "perchance  his  fine  words  will  be  interrupted,  if  thy 
tinder  be  not  damp." 

"Thou  needst  have  no  fear  of  that,"  answered  Fawkes, 
gruffly.  "But  let  us  hence,  for  'tis  even  now  past  the 
stroke  of  ten." 

She  heard  them  pass  quickly  out,  and  soon  their  foot- 
steps died  away  in  the  distance.  Elinor  lay  for  a  moment 
dazed, — the  blow  had  fallen!  The  words  he  had  uttered 
but  a  few  short  hours  ago  were  a  lie,  uttered  to  blind  her. 


ON    THE    STROKE    OF    ELEVEN.  IQI 

She  recoiled  in  horror  from  even  the  thoughts  of  that 
man  with  the  black  and  treacherous  heart.  He  was  now 
a  father  but  in  name;  all  her  love  turned  to  that  other 
man,  who,  in  that  very  moment,  was  standing  over  a  hell 
which  awaited  but  the  hand  of  Fawkes  to  send  it  belching 
forth.  Was  there  yet  time  to  save  him?  All  her  energies 
bent  themselves  to  this  one  purpose.  She  arose  and 
dressed  hurriedly,  forming  her  plan  of  action  the  mean- 
while. A  sudden  terror  came  upon  her.  If  by  some  acci- 
dent the  mine  should  be  prematurely  exploded,  what 
then?  But  she  recollected  the  cautious  man  who  was  to 
fire  it,  and  the  thought  quieted  her.  The  bell  in  a  neigh- 
boring steeple  chimed  the  quarter  after  ten.  Forty-five 
minutes  only  remained, — barely  time,  if  she  hastened  her 
utmost,  to  reach  the  Parliament  buildings  before  eleven 
would  ring  out  upon  the  air.  She  was  soon  ready  and 
hastened  toward  the  door,  her  trembling  fingers  scarce 
able,  in  their  eagerness,  to  lift  the  latch.  At  last  they 
found  the  cord,  but  the  portal  held  firmly  to  its  place. 
Again  she  tried,  putting  forth  all  her  strength.  Still  it 
did  not  yield.  The  horrible  truth  flashed  upon  the  girl; 
the  heavy  door  was  securely  fastened  from  the  outside ! 


192  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER. 

As  Elinor  stood  confronted  by  the  barred  door,  a  mad- 
ness born  of  terror  seized  her.  Frantically  she  beat  upon 
the  panel  until  in  places  the  wood  was  stained  with  her 
blood.  Again  and  again  she  threw  herself  against  the 
heavy  oak,  but  with  no  result.  After  many  vain  attempts 
she  sank,  almost  fainting,  to  the  floor. 

As  she  lay  breathless,  her  tender  hands  bruised  and 
bleeding,  there  fell  upon  her  ear  the  echo  of  the  chime 
once  more; — ten  thirty!  The  sound  infused  new  life  into 
her  slight  form.  Springing  to  her  feet  she  seized  a  bench 
near  by,  and  with  a  power  almost  superhuman,  raised  the 
heavy  piece  and  struck  the  portal  with  all  her  might.  A 
shower  of  dust  rewarded  her.'  Another  blow  and  a  wide 
fissure  appeared  across  the  panel.  Once  more  the  bench 
crashed  against  the  door,  and  it  gave  way,  a  shower  of 
splinters  flying  into  the  hall  below.  Quickly  she  hastened 
down  the  stairs  and  gained  the  street.  People  turned 
wondering  looks  upon  the  flying  girl  as  with  strength 
born  of  desperation  she  sped  toward  Parliament  House. 
As  she  reached  the  neighborhood  a  group  of  men  who 
stood  engaged  in  conversation,  noted  her,  and  one  drew 
forth  his  watch: — "There  is  one  carrying  a  petition," 
said  he;  "but  fifteen  minutes  yet  remain  before  the  open- 
ing of  the  House." 

The  words  quickened  her  energies;  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  yet! 

In  a  moment  she  was  in  sight  of  the  buildings.    It  had 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  193 

been  her  purpose  to  hasten  to  the  hall,  but  suddenly 
flashed  the  thought  that  her  entrance  might  be  barred, 
and  questions  be  asked.  No  time  now  but  for  one  thing, 
— to  seek  her  father  in  the  cellar,  and  snatch  the  torch 
from  out  his  hand.  .  .  .  The  clock  marked  the  hour 
of  half  past  ten  when  Fawkes,  having  taken  leave  of  Sir 
Thomas  Winter,  reached  the  door  of  the  dark  room  under 
Parliament  House.  As  he  had  left  it,  so  he  found  it; — 
the  portal  locked,  and  silence  reigning  within  where  lay 
the  faggots  and  the  gunpowder.  The  soldier  of  fortune 
glanced  about.  Save  for  a  few  idlers  the  narrow  passage 
flanking  the  cellar  door  was  unoccupied.  Soon  even 
those  went  on  their  way,  and  unobserved  he  opened  the 
portal  and  slipped  into  the  fatal  chamber,  closing  it  noise- 
lessly behind  him,  but  leaving  it  unbarred;  for,  the  spark 
once  applied  to  the  powder,  there  would  be  scant  time  for 
escape.  The  cellar  was  in  darkness  save  where,  through 
the  rusty  bars  of  a  small  window,  a  feeble  ray  of  light 
struggled  with  the  gloom,  losing  itself  amid  the  shadows. 

Stepping  carefully,  that  no  footfall  might  reach  the 
ears  of  any  above,  he  groped  his  way  along  the  rough 
stone  wall.  Upon  reaching  a  depression  in  the  masonry, 
he  took  up  from  its  hiding  place  a  lantern,  a  rude  affair 
formed  of  iron,  pierced  by  countless  holes,  and  within  it  a 
tallow  candle,  which,  when  he  lighted  it,  sputtered  fitfully 
and  sent  forth  a  sickly  yellow  light,  the  glare  only  serving 
to  intensify  the  gloom.  A  rat,  frightened  by  his  ap- 
proach, scurried  into  some  dark  corner  with  a  plaintive 
squeak  which  startled  him,  despite  his  iron  nerve. 

"Faith!"  he  muttered,  a  grim  smile  relaxing  for  a  mo- 
ment the  stern  lines  of  his  face,  "thou  art  strangely  ner- 
vous, Guido,  that  such  a  thing  doth  make  thee  tremble! 
Tis  an  adage  that  such  vermin  as  I  have  disturbed  make 


194  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

haste  to  leave  a  fatal  ship,  and,  methinks,  this  Ship  of 
State  is  very  near  the  rocks.  'Tis  a  sign  from  heaven 
that  I  shall  not  fail."  Then,  turning  to  the  pile  of  faggots : 
"So  innocent  are  ye,  that  even  Elinor,  with  all  her  gen- 
tleness, might  bear  you  in  her  arms  and  take  no  harm; 

but "  here  he  bent  and  touched  a  hidden  cask:  "thou 

art  more  to  my  liking,  and  the  King  shall  hear  thee  speak 
for  me.  Thine  is  the  voice  which  shall  tell  all  England 
that " 

For  a  moment  the  monologue  was  interrupted  and  he 
busied  himself  with  the  fuse,  pouring  from  a  flask  taken 
from  his  doublet,  fresh  grains  of  powder  upon  the  train 
already  laid,  that  nothing  should  be  lacking  to  speed  the 
fire  to  its  destination. 

Overhead  sounded  countless  footsteps,  as  the  pages  and 
attendants  upon  the  floor  of  the  Parliament  chamber  has- 
tened hither  and  thither  upon  their  various  errands. 

"My  good  lords  and  bishops  are  assembling,"  mut- 
tered Fawkes ;  "a  most  gallant  gathering,  I  warrant.  Pity 
'tis,  that  all  must  perish;  for  there  be  some  who  have 
small  voice  in  the  passing  of  the  laws." 

Suddenly  there  fell  upon  his  ear  the  muffled  sound  of 
a  cheer  raised  by  countless  voices.  The  smile  upon  his 
lips  grew  scornful:  "The  King!"  he  muttered,  "greeting 
his  good  Parliament.  Tis  said  he  loves  a  well-timed 
jest;  pity  to  rob  England  of  such  a  famous  clown;  per- 
chance in  hell  the  devil  may  use  his  wit  to  while  away 
the  dinner  hour." 

The  noise  above  increased;  the  peers  had  entered  the 
hall;  the  King  had  ascended  the  throne,  and  it  lacked 
but  fifteen  minutes  to  the  first  stroke  of  eleven,  when 
the  Parliament  would  open — and  the  flint  would  kiss  the 
steel. 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  195 

Despite  his  hardihood  the  man  waiting  in  the  gloom 
beneath  the  feet  of  the  sovereign  and  his  noblemen  grew 
restless  as  the  fatal  moment  approached.  Through  his 
brain  flashed  thoughts  of  the  fearful  consequence  of  his 
bloody  deed, — the  terror,  the  widespread  consternation 
and  the  chaos  which  would  follow  the  destruction  of  the 
Parliament.  To  him  came,  also,  the  thought  of  his 
daughter — what  she  would  say  to  him;  but  then — she 
was  a  child  and  little  comprehended  affairs  of  State. 
When  all  was  over  Garnet  would  quiet  her  fears,  and 
her  father  would  be  a  hero  in  her  eyes. 

Unconsciously  he  drew  forth  his  dagger  and  pricked 
with  its  point  the  mortar  between  the  stones  of  the  pillar 
against  which  he  leaned.  With  something  to  occupy  his 
mind  the  moments  would  speed  faster.  The  lantern, 
burning  dimly,  stands  upon  the  floor  near  his  side;  be- 
yond lies  the  fuse,  ready  for  the  fire. 

Just  at  this  moment  Elinor,  having  reached  the  door 
of  the  cellar,  paused  an  instant  upon  the  threshold,  then, 
scarce  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing  pushed  open 
the  unbarred  portal  and  stepped  within  the  gloomy  cham- 
ber. So  silent  was  her  coming  that  Fawkes,  busy  with 
his  dagger  and  the  mortar,  did  not  perceive  it.  The  girl 
hesitated,  trembling  in  every  limb;  the  blackness  of  the 
place,  the  intense  excitement  under  which  she  labored, 
and  the  fearful  thought  that  already  the  fuse  might  be 
burning,  her  father  gone,  and  death  so  near,  held  her 
spellbound.  She  saw  the  faint  glimmer  from  the  lantern, 
a  hundred  tiny  streaks  of  light  glowing  through  the  dark- 
ness. Her  father  must  be  there  beside  his  light,  and  sum- 
moning all  her  energies  she  moves  quickly  forward,  intent 
only  upon  accomplishing  her  mission. 

The  rustle  of  her  garments  struck  upon  Fawkes'  ear. 


196  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

He  turned  and  saw  the  half  open  door,  the  dim  outline  of 
the  form  which  stood  between  him  and  the  faint  light 
struggling  through  the  aperture.  With  a  quick  indraw- 
ing  of  the  breath  he  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  dagger  and 
turned  to  face  the  advancing  figure.  Shall  anyone  thus 
ruin  all,  at  the  eleventh  hour?  His  nerves  became  as  if 
made  of  steel,  all  signs  of  indecision  vanish ;  face  to  face 
with  danger  he  becomes  once  more  the  hardened  veteran 
who  has  met  unflinchingly  the  fierce  charge  of  the  foe- 
men  in  the  Lowcountry. 

Elinor  at  length  perceived  him  whom  she  sought,  and 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  grasp  him,  for  the  dry  lips 
refused  to  frame  the  words  her  tongue  would  utter. 

In  that  moment,  noting  the  extended  arms,  and  think- 
ing the  other  would  lay  violent  hands  upon  him,  Fawkes 
sprang  forward  and  seized  the  frail  form  about  the  shoul- 
ders ;  small  time  to  note  the  softness  of  the  flesh  and  the 
clinging  woman's  garments,  or  the  low  cry  which  answers 
the  grasp  of  his  iron  hand.  The  blackness  of  the  place 
hides  their  faces,  and  his  business  is  to  carry  out  the  plot. 

For  a  moment  the  two — father  and  daughter — are 
locked  together  in  a  firm  embrace;  the  slender  figure 
of  the  child  bent  and  tortured  by  the  cruel  pressure  of 
the  pitiless  fingers.  She  struggled  desperately,  and  in 
her  efforts  to  free  herself  Fawkes  finds  the  way  to  end 
the  matter  quickly. 

"Thou  wouldst  undo  the  work,"  he  hisses.  "Didst 
think  to  find  me  unprepared?  Thou  art  a  cunning  knave, 
but  this " 

No  eye,  save  that  of  God,  sees  the  uplifting  of  the  dag- 
ger, the  quick  movement  of  the  arm,  the  rapid  thrust 
which  drives  the  fatal  steel  into  that  tender  breast,  letting 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  197 

forth  her  life-blood  upon  the  rough  pavement  of  the 
cellar. 

Elinor  reeled  and  released  her  hold  upon  him.  In  her 
agony  God  stretched  forth  His  hand  and  held  her  in  His 
grasp  so  that,  ere  she  died,  the  end  for  which  she  had 
come  might  be  accomplished.  One  word,  a  bitter  cry 
wrung  from  her  heart,  escaped  her  lips:  "Father!" 

But  Fawkes  heeded  it  not.  As  he  sent  home  the  dag- 
ger his  foot  struck  the  lantern,  overturning  it,  and  sent 
the  iron  case  with  its  burning  contents  rolling  across  the 
floor  toward  the  powder  train.  In  another  instant  the 
fire  will  have  reached  the  fuse, — and  'tis  not  yet  time! 

With  a  frantic  push  he  hurled  the  victim  of  his  murder- 
ous blow  away  from  him,  and  hastened  to  snatch  the  sput- 
tering light.  His  violence  flung  the  stricken  girl  to  the 
floor,  but  with  a  last  effort  of  will,  she  staggered  to  her 
feet  and  groped  blindly  for  the  door,  one  little  hand  out- 
stretched before  her,  the  other  covering  the  cruel  wound 
made  by  her  father's  knife. 

At  last  she,  found  the  portal,  and  gained  the  narrow 
way  to  the  street.  There  was  but  one  thought  in  her 
heart, — to  reach  the  hall  above  before  death  claimed  her. 

Within  the  House  of  Lords  all  was  ready  for  the  open- 
ing of  the  Parliament.  James,  clothed  in  royal  robes  of 
State,  and  exchanging  jests  with  his  favorites,  was  lolling 
upon  the  throne.  The  peers  were  in  their  seats;  some, 
deep  in  conversation,  others,  silently  gazing  at  the  gor- 
geous scene  of  which  they  were  a  part.  At  a  table  stand- 
ing near  the  space  before  the  throne,  sat  Lord  Monteagle 
and  his  son,  the  latter  engaged  in  arranging  the  notes  of 
his  speech  on  the  bill  which  he  was  soon  to  bring  before 
the  House.  Effingston  seemed  to  be  strangely  nervous  as 


198  THE  FIFTH    OF   NOVEMBER. 

the  hour  for  his  address  drew  near  and  his  father  had  evi- 
dently made  some  jesting  remark  concerning  his  tremu- 
lous hand,  when  suddenly  the  attention  of  all  was  drawn 
toward  the  great  doors  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  room. 
Affected  by  the  tumult,  James  turned  impatiently  to  see 
who  had  dared  disturb  the  solemnity  of  the  hour.  Those 
who  were  looking  in  that  direction  started  with  amaze- 
ment. 

Through  the  open  portal,  flanked  by  its  two  rows  of 
yeomen  of  the  guard,  advanced  a  slender  girlish  figure, 
with  face  white  as  marble  and  whose  dark  eyes  sought  the 
King.  Clad  in  a  gown  of  some  soft  gray  stuff  which  had 
been  torn  open  at  the  throat,  revealing  the  gentle  curve 
of  the  white  bosom,  the  girl  staggered  up  the  long  aisle 
leading  to  the  throne.  Between  the  fingers  of  the  hand 
pressed  above  her  heart  showed  a  crimson  stain  which, 
touching  the  bodice  of  her  dress,  gradually  spread  itself 
upon  the  soft  color. 

Amazed  at  so  unwonted  a  spectacle  the  peers  could 
only  stare,  transfixed.  The  girl  had  reaqhed  the  space 
before  the  throne  and  stopped  beside  the  table  at  which 
Effingston  stood,  who  alone,  of  all  the  House,  had  started 
to  his  feet  and  confronted  her.  For  one  brief  moment  she 
gazed  into  his  eyes,  then  stretched  forth  her  hand.  The 
white  lips  parted,  she  cried  in  a  stifled  voice: 

"My  lords!  flee  the  House  ere " 

The  voice  fell  to  a  whisper,  she  reeled  and  sought  to 
grasp  the  table  for  support.  Effingston  sprang  toward 
her,  but  before  he  reached  her  side,  her  form  sank  slowly 
to  the  floor  and  lay  at  his  feet.  Unmindful  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  King,  and  of  his  fellow  peers,  the  young  noble- 
man raised  her  in  his  arms.  None  beside  Lord  Mont- 
eagle  heard  him  whisper: — "Elinor!" 


THE    FIFTH    OF    NOVEMBER.  199 

At  her  name  the  closed  lids  opened,  and  her  lips  parted 
in  a  faint  smile. 

"My  love!"  she  murmured  faintly,  her  head  sinking 
upon  his  shoulder  like  that  of  a  tired  child  slowly  falling 
to  sleep.  "I  am  guiltless — thou  alone — 'twas  for  thy 
sake " 

A  spasm  of  pain  swept  across  her  face;  he  felt  a  shud- 
der shake  the  slender  form,  and  a  beseeching  look  sought 
his  face. 

"I  understand,  my  darling,"  he  whispered,  pressing  his 
lips  to  hers. 

She  sighed.  A  happy  light  shone  in  the  fast  glazing 
eyes. 

"Elinor!"  he  murmured.    "One  more  word " 

But  God  had  taken  her. 


200  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
FAWKES    BEFORE    THE    KING. 

For  a  moment  a  great  stillness  pervaded  the  House  of 
Lords.  The  King  had  half  arisen  from  the  throne,  his 
hands  tightly  grasping  the  gilded  lions  on  either  side,  and 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  dead  form  of  Elinor,  lying  at 
Effingston's  feet.  All  followed  the  monarch's  glance,  the 
ministers  and  peers  leaning  forward  to  better  see  the 
stricken  girl  growing  rigid  in  the  clasp  of  death.  So 
profound  was  the  silence  in  the  great  hall,  that  the  foot- 
steps of  those  without  were  heard  with  startling  distinct- 
ness in  every  part  of  the  room.  Before  all  the  peers, 
leaned  Lord  Monteagle,  his  gaze  riveted  upon  the  face 
of  his  son.  As  for  Effingston  he  heeded  nothing;  like 
an  image  of  stone  he  stood,  his  limbs  powerless  and  his 
blood  turned  to  ice ;  the  face  of  the  dead  was  not  whiter 
than  his,  yet,  upon  her  face  was  the  smile  of  peace,  in  his, 
the  shadow  of  conscious,  mortal  agony. 

So  sudden  had  been  the  coming  of  that  tender  maid, 
born  of  the  people,  but  now  more  noble  than  any  lord 
of  England,  that  none  save,  perchance,  Salisbury,  Mont- 
eagle  and  the  King,  comprehended  its  meaning.  The 
girl's  dying  cry  that  all  should  flee  the  House  of  Parlia- 
ment, was  a  mystery  to  the  lords;  but  to  the  mind  of  the 
Prime  Minister,  and  to  Monteagle  and  James,  came  as 
by  a  flash  of  lightning,  the  veiled  meaning  in  the  letter, 
which,  strong  in  his  feeling  of  security,  the  King  had 
hitherto  looked  upon  as  an  idle  jest,  gotten  up  to  dis- 
turb his  dreams.  Raising  his  eyes  from  the  spot  where 


FAWKES    BEFORE    THE    KING.  2OI 

Elinor  lay,  her  blood  staining  the  polished  floor,  he  turned 
them  upon  Salisbury,  with  a  look  of  interrogation.  The 
Minister  collected  by  an  effort  his  scattered  senses.  Into 
his  mind  came  as  though  by  Divine  inspiration  some 
inkling  of  the  nature  of  the  threatened  danger.  Turning 
quickly,  he  summoned  to  his  side  Master  Edmond  Dou- 
bleday,  an  officer  of  the  royal  household. 

"Go,"  said  he  hoarsely,  "into  the  cellar,  and  whosoever 
thou  findest  there,  be  it  man  or  woman,  seize  quickly. 
Perchance  the  King's  life  dependeth  upon  thy  expedi" 
tion." 

Of  quick  wit,  the  officer  comprehended  that  his  supe- 
rior had  surmised  some  plot,  the  solution  of  which  might 
be  found  below.  Hastening  from  the  hall  he  gathered  on 
the  way  a  dozen  gentlemen,  and  together  the  company 
hurried  from  the  House  and  sought  the  door  which 
opened  to  the  chamber  under  it.  Something  guided  their 
steps — great,  crimson  splashes  upon  the  pavement,  blood 
drops  which  left  a  well-marked  trail  from  the  space  be- 
fore the  throne  of  the  King — to  the  narrow  entrance  of 
the  cellar  wherein  lay  the  danger  which  they  must  avert. 
Little  did  Guido  Fawkes  know — as  little  had  the  dead 
girl  comprehended — that  her  heart's  blood  would  mark 
the  way  which  would  lead  him  to  the  scaffold  because  it 
would  be  the  means  of  hastening  on  his  enemies,  directing 
them  with  no  uncertain  significance  to  his  hiding  place. 

In  the  semi-darkness  of  the  cellar,  amid  his  coals  and 
faggots,  with  the  six  and  thirty  barrels  of  gunpowder 
ready  for  the  spark,  the  daring  soldier  of  fortune  stood 
with  trembling  limbs,  and  a  nameless  terror  at  his  heart. 
Unflinching  in  the  face  of  danger,  the  first  in  all  deeds  of 
hardihood,  famed  for  his  valor  in  the  Lowcountry,  the 
overturning  of  the  lantern  so  near  the  powder  train,  and 

14 


202  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

the  low  cry  of  agony  which  followed  the  driving  home  of 
his  dagger,  had  unnerved  him.  For  one  brief  instant  he 
thought  he  recognized  the  cry — that  from  the  gasping 
lips  so  near  his  own  had  fallen  the  word  "father!"  but 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  he  dismissed  the  dread- 
ful thought.  Some  idle,  curious  knave  had  chanced  to  see 
the  cellar  door,  and  entered.  Was  it  his  fault  that  he 
had  resorted  to  the  knife  to  prevent  the  discovery  of  his 
presence? 

Occupied  with  the  overturned  lantern  he  had  noted 
little  what  befell  the  other.  Stabbed  to  death,  the  intruder 
probably  lay  in  some  dark  corner  where  the  soldier's  fran- 
tic push  had  sent  him.  The  lantern  burned  dimly,  and 
tifhe  was  speeding,  so  'twould  be  an  ill  thing  to  waste  it 
upon  a  dead  man.  Steadying  his  nerves  by  an  effort, 
Fawkes  took  out  the  watch  which  Winter  had  given  him, 
and  bending  toward  the  flickering  light  studied  the  dial. 
The  hour  was  at  hand;  in  five  minutes  the  great  clock 
in  the  tower  of  St.  Paul  would  mark  the  stroke  of  eleven, 
and  he  would  fire  the  fuse. 

Searching  in  his  doublet  he  drew  forth  a  tinder  box 
and  touchwood.  Five  minutes  more  and  he  would  strike 
the  spark;  in  five  more  the  red,  spitting  serpent  would 
reach  the  hidden  powder;  by  then  he  would  be  safe,  and, 
mingling  with  the  crowd,  would  hear  the  roar  of  thunder 
heralding  the  passing  of  James  Stuart  and  his  Parlia- 
ment into  eternity. 

As  he  waited,  the  flint  held  ready  to  strike  the  steel, 
there  flashed  through  his  mind  the  thought  of  his  daugh- 
ter, but  she  was  safe  at  home,  and The  sound  of  hasty 

footsteps  and  the  passing  of  dark  forms  before  the  dim 
light  struggling  through  the  half  closed  entrance  to  the 


FAWKES    BEFORE    THE    KING.  203 

cellar,  broke  his  revery.  Was  it  another  come  to  meet 
his  knife  point? 

As  he  drew  back,  shading  the  lantern  with  his  cloak,  the 
door  was  burst  violently  open,  and  a  dozen  men,  the  first 
holding  aloft  a  torch,  pushed  into  the  cellar.  Fawkes 
thrust  the  flint  and  touchwood  into  the  bosom  of  his 
doublet,  and,  ever  cool  when  danger  threatened,  bent 
carelessly  over  the  pile  of  coals  and  faggots.  Coming 
thus,  without  knowledge,  any  might  have  judged  him  an 
honest  coal  monger  busy  at  his  trade. 

Those  who  entered  so  hastily  rushed  upon  him;  Ed- 
mond  Doubleday  raised  a  dagger,  intent  upon  driving  it 
into  his  body,  but  seeing  Fawkes  unarmed  he  lowered 
the  steel  and  seized  him  by  the  shoulders.  In  an  instant 
the  soldier  shook  off  the  other's  grasp. 

"Who  art  thou?"  cried  he  fiercely,  "what  is  thy  busi- 
ness, sir?" 

For  reply  Doubleday  turned  to  his  companions.  "Sur- 
round the  fellow,  gentlemen,"  said  he  sharply,  "and  search 
the  cellar." 

Fawkes  was  quickly  hemmed  in  by  a  wall  of  men, 
each  with  drawn  sword  in  hand.  On  the  instant  it  flashed 
upon  him  that  the  plot  was  known,  and  that  further  dis- 
simulation would  be  profitless;  therefore  he  held  his 
peace  while  two  or  three  of  his  captors  searched  the 
cellar.  One  muttered  an  exclamation ;  he  had  come  upon 
the  fuse,  and  following  it,  perceived  the  barrels  beneath 
the  pile  of  faggots.  Fawkes  smiled  grimly. 

"If  thou  wilt  Took  yet  further,"  said  he,  "haply  thou  wilt 
find  a  dead  man." 

But  nothing  was  discovered  save  Fawkes,  his  faggots, 
and  the  gunpowder. 

The  captive  started.    He  had  not  then  killed  him  who 

14 


204  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

grappled  with  him  in  the  darkness;  sorely  wounded,  the 
other  had  escaped  to  set  the  bloodhounds  upon  his 
hiding  place.  He  had  thought  his  han'd  more  sure. 

After  thoroughly  searching  the  cellar  those  who  had 
taken  Fawkes  led  him  to  the  passage  without.  He  noted 
upon  the  stones  the  drops  of  blood,  and  smiled, — his  knife 
had  not  been  useless  after  all.  As  the  little  company  with 
the  soldier  of  fortune  in  their  midst  hurried  along  the 
passage  there  ran  toward  them  Sir  Thomas  Knyvet  and 
half  a  score  of  the  royal  guards.  Perceiving  the  prisoner, 
the  knight  looked  at  him  critically. 

"What!"  cried  he,  turning  to  Doubleday,  "hast  not 
bound  the  ruffian?  Tis  the  King's  pleasure  that  any 
whom  thou  hast  taken  be  brought  before  the  throne." 

No  cords  were  forthcoming,  for,  in  their  haste,  small 
matters  had  been  neglected,  but  one  of  the  gentlemen, 
taking  from  his  pocket  a  pair  of  garters  proffered  them 
to  Doubleday. 

"Take  these,"  said  he;  "I  warrant  they  will  hold  the 
knave." 

Fawkes  submitted  without  a  protest,  watching  with 
grim  indifference  the  passing  of  the  garters  about  his 
legs  and  wrists.  Once  he  smiled;  but  'twas  a  fleeting 
shadow.  Within  the  House  his  captors  searched  him, 
coming  upon  the  tinder  box,  touchwood,  and  Winter's 
watch — things  which  were  to  bear  heavy  evidence  against 
the  prisoner. 

In  the  hall  of  Parliament  all  was  confusion;  Elinor, 
guarded  by  Effingston,  still  lay  dead  before  the  throne, 
and  the  ministers  were  gathered  about  it. 

The  tumult  ceased  as  Fawkes  was  led  through  the 
doorway.  He  was  to  meet  the  King  whom  he  would  have 
slain,  yet  he  advanced  with  uplifted  head,  not  a  muscle 


FAWKEB    BEFORE    THE    KING.  205 

quivering.  The  peers  made  way  for  him,  so  that  a  space 
was  cleared  before  the  throne.  Suddenly  his  eyes  fell 
upon  Effingston;  for  an  instant  he  paused,  then  follow- 
ing the  gaze  of  the  grief-stricken  nobleman,  saw  her  who 
lay  upon  the  floor.  A  mist  gathered  before  his  eyes;  a 
blinding  flash  of  unreal  but  fierce  accusing  light  seared 
his  brain  and  turned  him  into  stone.  Horror-stricken  he 
advanced,  scarce  conscious  that  he  moved,  until  he  stood 
before  the  body  of  his  daughter  upon  whose  breast 
showed  the  red  wound  made  by  the  knife.  The  King, 
Salisbury,  and  the  ministers  had  turned  and  were  looking 
fixedly  upon  him,  but'  Fawkes  was  unconscious  of  their 
gaze.  He  saw  only  the  white  face,  the  half-closed  eyes, 
the  cold  lips  which  had  kissed  his  own  so  fondly  and 
called  him  "father." 

As  the  flashing  of  a  great  light  coming  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, the  truth  gleamed  in  its  red  horror  upon  him — the 
reason  of  the  presence  of  another  in  the  cellar,  the  drops 
of  blood  along  the  pavement.  She  had  sought  to  save 
him  from  the  crime  of  murder — and  he  had  killed  her! 

He  would  have  cried  out  and  thrown  himself  upon  his 
knees  beside  the  dead,  but  his  iron  will  controlled  the 
impulse,  and  the  hands  of  the  guard  upon  his  shoulder 
held  him  firm.  What  cared  he  for  axe  or  gibbet  now? 
He  had  loved  her  next  to  his  religion,  and  had  slain  her. 
The  King  was  speaking: 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "what  have  we  here,  brave  gentlemen? 
Doth  tremble  so  at  the  sight  of  one  dead  girl?  Who  art 
thou,  fellow?" 

Fawkes  replied  nothing,  nor,  perchance,  heard  the 
voice  of  James ;  his  thoughts  were  in  Spain,  where,  when 
a  child,  Elinor  had  climbed  upon  his  knee. 

"Faith!"  cried  the  King,     hast  caught  a  dumb  man, 


206  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

good  Master  Doubleday?  or  hath  the  decoration  of  the 
garter  so  overcome  his  senses  that  he  is  in  a  maze?" 

Some  of  the  gentlemen  about  the  throne  smiled,  for 
James  loved  a  jest;  but  Effingston  turned  away  and 
pressed  his  father's  hand. 

"Come!"  cried  the  King,  impatiently;  "wilt  not  find 
thy  tongue?  'tis  not  my  custom  to  speak  a  second  time. 
What  didst  thou  in  the  cellar?" 

Fawkes  raised  his  eyes  and  the  King  saw  in  them  a 
look  of  such  utter  hopelessness  that  some  chord  of  pity 
in  his  heart  was  touched. 

"My  good  Lord  Cecil,"  said  he,  turning  to  Salisbury, 
"methinks  terror,  or  something  worse,  hath  driven  away 
his  wits;  we  but  waste  words  upon  him.  See  to  it,  pray, 
that  he  be  closely  guarded;- for  certain  questions  must  be 
put  to  him.  The  Warden  of  the  Tower  hath  a  way  to 
loosen  stubborn  tongues." 

So  saying,  he  arose  with  much  dignity  and  left  the 
hall,  followed  by  many  of  his  gentlemen.  Fawkes  they 
took  out  by  another  way — the  road  which  led  to  the 
Tower.  He  gave  no  sign,  but  let  his  gaze  dwell  in  one 
last  farewell  upon  the  body  of  his  daughter.  Then  his 
eyes  met  those  of  Effingston,  and  in  the  other's  look  he 
read  that  the  dead  would  rest  in  peace  and  honor. 


THE    BANQUET.  207 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE     BANQUET. 

On  the  evening  of  that  memorable  Fifth  of  November, 
there  were  gathered  in  a  spacious  residence  at  Ashbery, 
Saint  Ledger,  a  small  company  evidently  bent  upon 
pleasure. 

During  the  day  they  had  passed  their  time  in  the 
many  ways  gentlemen  were  wont  to  choose  when  seeking 
forgetfulness  of  the  din  and  distractions  incident  to  a 
great  city.  But  it  was  not  difficult  to  discern  that  the 
hearts  of  the  men  were  far  from  interested  in  the  various 
sports  undertaken  by  them. 

The  hours  from  morning  until  dark  had  been  spent  in 
a  variety  of  ways,  but  none  evinced  any  enjoyment  in 
their  pastime.  A  few  had  beguiled  a  small  part  of  the 
day  in  hunting,  but  they  failed  to  find  even  in  that  excite- 
ment relief  for  the  anxiety  which  so  oppressed  them.  At 
last  twilight  came,  lingered,  and  glided  into  night.  But 
with  the  darkness  the  uneasiness  of  all  increased. 

Nor  would  this  fact  have  caused  wonder  had  it  been 
known  what  thoughts  lay  in  the  mind  of  each ;  that  they 
were  momentarily  expecting  tidings  upon  which  de- 
pended not  only  their  hopes  and  happiness  but,  perchanceT 
their  lives  as  well.  Indeed,  the  company  had  been  bidden 
thither  by  none  other  than  Lord  Catesby,  who  deemed  it 
expedient  that  those  not  actually  engaged  in  carrying 
out  the  plot  for  the  assassination  of  James  and  his  Parlia- 
ment, should  tarry  at  his  country  residence  until  news  of 
the  accomplished  deed  should  be  brought  them.  Acting 


208  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

upon  the  suggestion,  he,  together  with  Sir  Everard 
Digsby,  Rookwood,  Robert  Morgan,  Grant  and  the 
brother  of  Sir  Thomas  Winter,  had  ridden  forth  from  the 
city  the  day  before;  and  now,  with  apprehension  which 
their  sanguine  hopes  could  not  fully  thrust  aside,  they 
awaited  the  news  which  was  to  tell  them  how  the  fearful 
plot  had  prospered. 

After  a  day,  the  length  of  which  was  measured  not  by 
the  standard  of  moments  but  by  that  of  slow-moving 
years,  all  had  assembled  to  partake  of  the  evening  repast. 
Surrounding  the  glittering  table  were  anxious  and 
thoughtful  faces.  The  host  was  silent  and  distraught, 
but  not  more  so  than  his  guests.  The  terrible  strain 
under  which  they  labored  forbade  much  conversation; 
and  if  a  laugh,  perchance,  mounted  to  the  lips  of  any, 
it  sounded  hollow  and  mirthless. 

"What  now,  good  gentlemen,"  cried  Catesby,  with  an 
attempt  at  gayety,  when  silence  had  again  fallen  upon 
the  group;  "ye  are  in  truth  but  sorry  companions.  It 
would  appear  that  something  besides  good  vintage  lay  in 
the  cellar  beneath  us.  Come,  fill  your  cups  and  let  wine 
bring  to  our  lips  the  jest,  since  wit  seemeth  utterly  bar- 
ren." 

"Nay,  my  lord,"  exclaimed  Rookwood,  as  he  thrust 
his  glass  aside;  "I  for  one  am  done  with  pretensions;  'tis 
time  some  news  did  reach  us."  The  man  drew  forth  his 
watch,  and  glancing  at  it,  said  with  a  frown:  "By  Our 
Blessed  Lady,  'tis  past  nine  and  we  have  had  no  tidings!" 

The  anxiety  in  the  speaker's  tone  seemed  to  find  a  silent 
response  in  the  heart  of  each.  Before  them  all  the  wine 
stood  untasted.  A  barking  cur  upon  the  highway  caused 
them  to  start  to  their  feet  and  listen,  thinking  the  sound 
might  be  the  herald  of  an  approaching  horseman. 


THE    BANQUET.  209 

"  'Twas  nothing,"  said  the  host  wearily,  when  once  more 
seated.  "Patience,  patience,  gentlemen;  I  think  this 
delay  doth  not  bode  ill  to  us,  for  as  ye  are  aware,  bad 
news  is  ever  atop  of  the  swiftest  steed." 

"Ah,  good  Catesby,"  exclaimed  Digsby,  "it  is  to  thee 
we  look  for  consolation  in  this  terrible  hour.  But  I  do 
most  devoutly  wish  some  intelligence,  be  it  good  or  evil, 
would  arrive;  for  naught  can  be  worse  than  this  awful 
waiting." 

"Talk  not  of  evil  tidings,"  broke  in  Grant,  nervously; 
"our  minds  are  full  enough  of  fears  without  thy 

"Nay,  good  Robert,"  interrupted  Sir  Everard,  "  'twas 
but  a  figure  of  speech  I  used.  Nothing  is  further  from 
my  mind  than  to  play  the  croaking  prophet." 

"Art  sure,  my  lord,"  queried  Rookwood,  "that  Sir 
Winter  did  comprehend  in  what  manner  the  intelligence 
was  to  be  brought?" 

"Quite  certain  of  it,"  answered  the  host;  "for  'twas  the 
last  topic  upon  which  we  spoke  before  I  left  the  city. 
Have  no  fear;  he  understood  full  well  that  Master  Keyes 
was  to  ride  post  haste  the  moment  all  was  accomplished." 

"How  long  would  it  take  a  horseman,  riding  at  his 
best  speed,  to  travel  the  distance?"  enquired  Rookwood, 
again  drawing  forth  his  watch. 

"If  nothing  occurred  to  hinder  on  the  way,  and  his 
mount  was  fresh  at  start,  methinks  the  journey  should 
be  made  in  eight  hours." 

"Then,"  exclaimed  the  other,  thrusting  back  his  time- 
piece, "if  all  be  well  we  would  have  heard  ere  now.  I 
fear  me — nay — I  know  not  what  I  fear." 

But  hark!  What  sound  is  that  which  at  last  falls  upon 
the  listening  group?  Was  it  the  wind  sighing  through 
the  leafless  trees?  Nay,  it  cannot  be;  for  now  they  hear 


210  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

it  again,  and  more  distinctly.  There  is  no  mistaking  the 
flying  hoofs  of  a  horse  striking  the  hard  road.  All  spring 
from  the  table.  The  moment  has  arrived;  they  are  to 
know.  As  each  gazes  into  the  white  face  of  the  other, 
he  but  beholds  the  reflection  of  his  own  pallid  counte- 
nance, and  speech  for  a  moment  is  impossible. 

"God!"  cried  Rookwood,  listening;  "Catesby,  thou 
didst  say  but  one  rider  was  to  bear  the  message,  and  I 
hear  the  noise  of  several  rushing  steeds,  if,  indeed,  I  be 
not  mad." 

Louder  and  louder  grew  the  clatter  of  the  hoofs,  whiter 
and  whiter  the  faces  of  the  waiting  men.  At  last  five 
horsemen  dash  in  at  the  gate  and  ride  without  drawing 
rein  across  the  lawn  and  up  to  the  very  window  of  the 
banquet  room. 

No  need  to  ask  what  tidings.  Winter  is  the  first  to 
throw  himself  from  his  steaming  horse,  and  followed  by 
Percy,  the  two  Wrights  and  Robert  Keyes,  staggers  into 
the  room.  They  are  covered  with  mud  and  streaming 
with  perspiration.  Their  hats  and  swords  were  left  be- 
hind— evidently  lost  in  the  wild  ride  from  London. 
Breathless  they  stand,  for  a  moment  unable  to  speak. 
Written  on  the  face  of  each  is  an  expression  of  utter 
despair,  mingled  with  fear  and  pain,  such  a  look  as  an 
animal  wears  when,  shot  through  the  body,  it  blindly  flees 
from  death. 

Winter  is  the  first  to  find  voice;  and  clutching  at  the 
table,  which  shakes  under  his  trembling  grasp,  pants, 
in  a  tone  which  is  scarcely  audible: 

"Flee  for  your  lives!  There  is  yet  time  for  us  to  escape. 
We  cannot  help  him  who  is  in  the  Tower.  Our  own 
necks  will  pay  for  further  delay." 

There  is  a  horrified  silence,  broken  only  by  the  hard 


THE    BANQUET.  21 1 

breathing  of  the  men.  At  last  Rookwood,  pale  with 
emotion,  sprang  toward  the  speaker,  gasping:  "What  is 
this  thou  sayest?  Failure!  It  cannot  be!  Thou  must 
bemad!" 

"Nay,"  cried  Percy,  "  'tis  so,  'tis  so,  indeed.  Fawkes 
is  captured.  Nothing  is  left  for  us  but  flight.  Come,  to 
horse!  to  horse!  I  say.  Even  now  the  soldiers  are  on 
the  road,  and  any  moment  the  sound  of  hurrying  hoofs 
in  pursuit  of  us  may  fall  upon  our  ears." 

In  an  instant  the  utmost  disorder  reigned.  Chairs  were 
overturned  in  the  eagerness  of  the  men  to  take  in  hand 
their  swords,  which  rested  against  the  wall.  Glasses, 
swept  from  off  the  board,  fell  with  a  crash,  adding  to  the 
general  din.  The  floor  was  strewn  with  eatables  and 
wine,  carried  from  off  the  table  in  the  mad  rush.  Panic 
ruled,  and  it  had  placed  its  sign-manual  upon  each  face. 

At  last,  above  the  uproar,  the  voice  of  Catesby  can  be 
heard,  and  standing  by  the  door  he  addresses  the  fear- 
stricken  men.  "Gentlemen!"  he  cried,  "has  the  grasp  of 
terror  seized  upon  and  turned  you  all  mad?  Why  should 
we  fly,  and  by  that  course  brand  our  deeds  as  sinful?  Are 
we  criminals?  Have  we  stolen  aught?  Are  we  creatures 
to  be  hunted  through  the  country?  Come!  play  the  part 
God  has  given  to  each,  and  at  the  end,  since  success  is 
not  ours  let  us  meet  death  here,  hand  in  hand,  as  be- 
comes brothers  in  one  faith — like  martyrs!" 

The  words  of  the  speaker  had  small  effect  upon  the 
men,  and  did  not  check  the  general  confusion.  Those 
who  had  just  arrived  were  in  the  garden  attending  to 
their  jaded  steeds,  knowing  full  well  that  upon  them 
depended  their  lives. 

Rookwood  burst  again  into  the  room,  attired  in  a 
heavy  riding  mantle.  "Come,"  he  cried  to  his  host;  "to 


212  THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER 

horse  while  there  is  time!  Twould  be  a  wickedness  to 
tarry  longer;  it  meaneth  naught  but  self-destruction. 
Our  steeds  have  been  resting,  and  many  miles  may  be 
placed  between  us  and  London  ere  break  of  day.  En- 
danger not  all  our  lives  by  thy  foolish  scruples." 

At  last  the  finer  sentiments  of  Catesby  were  over- 
ruled by  the  words  and  entreaties  of  his  companions,  and 
he  with  them,  hurried  to  the  stable.  With  trembling 
fingers  the  bridles  were  fastened,  the  girths  drawn,  and  in 
a  moment  all  were  ready  for  the  flight.  With  a  clatter 
the  cavalcade  sped  out  of  the  gate  and  thundered  down 
the  road  at  breakneck  pace,  disappearing  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

So  ended  the  day  which  was  to  see  the  culmination  of  a 
deed  which  these  fleeing  men  once  dreamed  would  set  the 
world  on  fire!  And  what  had  come  of  it?  For  them, 
nothing  but  the  dancing  sparks  struck  out  by  the  hoofs 
of  galloping  horses,  bearing  their  guilty  riders  from  under 
the  blow  of  a  swinging  axe.  Fawkes,  their  unhappy  tool, 
was  already  in  the  grip  of  the  avenging  power;  and  was 
tasting  a  more  bitter  gall  than  that  of  torture  and  death, 
for  that  he  had,  with  his  own  hand,  shed  the  blood  of  his 
well-beloved  daughter,  but  not  one  drop  of  the  heretic 
blood  he  so  thirsted  to  spill. 


"IN    THE    KING'S    NAME."  213 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
"IN    THE    KING'S    NAME." 

The  bomb  having  exploded  so  unexpectedly  in  the 
camp  of  the  conspirators,  Fawkes  a  prisoner  in  the  hands 
of  the  government,  which,  following  the  custom  of  the 
day,  would  probably  under  torture  wring  from  him  a 
confession,  the  gentlemen  who  had  been  so  zealous  in 
the  cause  had  now  no  thought  but  of  flight.  So  sudden 
had  been  the  exposure  of  their  plot — laid  bare  to  the  eyes 
of  all  England  at  the  eleventh  hour — that  the  bold  plans 
for  a  well-regulated  defense  were  overthrown  completely, 
and  could  not  be  carried  out  in  any  degree.  Garnet, 
indeed,  was  for  the  time  safe,  his  hiding  place  unknown 
to  the  authorities,  and  did  Fawkes  resist  with  physical 
and  moral  force  the  torture,  the  Jesuit  might  not  become 
involved  in  the  consequences  of  his  treason.  But  Catesby, 
Percy,  the  two  Winters  and  others  stood  in  the  shadow 
of  the  scaffold.  That  no  mercy  would  be  measured  out 
to  them  was  beyond  peradventure.  Though  of  brave 
spirit,  they  feared,  and  could  but  flee  before,  the  anger  of 
the  law. 

It  was  indeed  a  pitiful  and  chagrined  body  of  horsemen 
who,  hurrying  through  Worcestershire  and  the  adjoining 
county,  sought  to  hide  themselves  from  the  King's  offi- 
cers. Pausing  in  their  mad  flight,  they  rifled  the  house  of 
Lord  Windsor,  taking  such  arms  and  armor  as  best 
suited  their  needs.  Close  after  them  rode  the  soldiers  of 
the  King  incited  by  promise  of  reward  and  honor  did  they 
capture  and  deliver  the  little  band  into  the  hands  of  Salis- 


214  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER 

bury  and  his  ministers.  One  face  was  missing  from 
among  those  fleeing  for  their  lives  in  such  wild  haste. 
Catesby,  Percy,  my  Lord  of  Rookwood,  the  two  Wrights, 
Grant,  Morgan  and  Robert  Keyes  rode  side  by  side,  but 
Thomas  Winter,  he  who  had  summoned  Fawkes  from 
Spain,  was^absent.  Small  need  of  words  between  the  pro- 
scribed conspirators.  A  single  purpose  was  in  each 
heart — to  escape  those  in  pursuit. 

As  dull  night  drew  on,  the  horses  jaded,  their  riders 
fainting  from  fatigue  and  fear,  the  luckless  gentlemen 
reached  Holbeach,  the  house  of  Stephen  Littleton.  The 
early  stars  were  twinkling  in  the  gray  vault  of  heaven 
when  lights  from  the  welcome  asylum  greeted  their  eyes. 
Percy  turned  to  Catesby,  who  rode  at  his  side. 

"Good  Robert,"  said  he,  "there  must  we  perforce  re- 
main till  morning;  horseflesh  can  scarce  endure  the 
strain  much  longer,  and  those  who  follow  must  needs 
halt,  also.  Stephen  Littleton  hath  been  our  friend,  there- 
fore is  his  dwelling  at  our  disposal.  Tis  a  stout  structure, 
and  should  the  King's  men  find  us  therein — some  will 
go  with  us  to  the  other  world." 

Catesby  smiled  sadly.  "Here  will  we  indeed  rest," 
replied  he ;  "for,  as  thou  sayest,  the  beasts  be  weary.  Eng- 
land is  small,  good  Percy;  we  must  not  lack  courage." 

Noting  the  two  leaders  pull  up  their  horses  at  the  gate 
of  the  dwelling,  the  others  did  likewise,  and  all  dis- 
mounted and  entered  the  place  which,  to  some,  was  their 
last  abode — save  the  grave.  In  the  main  chamber  a 
cheerful  fire  crackled;  for  in  the  month  of  November  the 
air  was  chill,  and  Master  Littleton  perceiving  the  gentle- 
men trembling  as  from  cold,  caused  to  be  thrown  upon 
the  embers  a  goodly  number  of  faggots  which  blazed 
brightly.  The  sight  recalled  to  Percy's  mind  the  fatal 


"IN    THE    KING'S    NAME."  215 

cellar  under  the  House  of  Parliament,  where  he  had  last 
seen  Fawkes  guarding  with  watchful  eye  the  secret  which 
lay  beneath  so  innocent  a  covering. 

Having  removed  their  heavy  boots  and  outer  clothing 
the  conspirators  talked  together,  seeking  to  dispel  the 
gloom  which  rested  upon  the  company.  All  were  ill  at 
ease,  for,  although  Percy  had  said  the  King's  officers 
would  rest,  it  was  possible  they  might  secure  fresh  horses, 
push  on,  and  attack  the  house  ere  morning.  Expecting 
no  mercy  if  taken  alive,  each  resolved  to  sell  his  life 
dearly. 

The  hours  passed  on  to  ten  in  the  evening,  when  a 
thing  happened  which,  to  the  minds  of  many  in  England, 
exemplified  the  law  of  God — that  the  wicked  shall  perish 
through  their  own  evil  devices.  Wishing  to  have  all  in 
readinesss  should  the  officers  come  upon  them  during 
the  night,  and  fearing  that  the  gunpowder  with  which 
they  were  provided  might  have  become  dampened  by 
reason  of  the  humidity  of  the  weather  and  its  prolonged 
exposure  to  the  elements,  Christopher  Wright  poured 
upon  a  platter  some  two  pounds  of  the  black  grains,  and 
set  it  beside  the  hearthstone.  Noting  the  action  another 
of  the  party  brought  a  second  bag  of  powder  and  treated 
it  likewise,  thinking  to  remove  it  when  sufficiently  dry. 

Percy  perceived  the  danger  and  withdrew  from  his 
position  before  the  blaze.  "Were  it  not  well,"  said  he, 
"to  have  a  care,  lest  a  spark  falling  outward  do  much 
harm  to  those  within  the  room?" 

"Nay,"  replied  Wright,  "  'tis  my  purpose  to  watch  it 
closely;  the  stuff,  being  damp,  is  worthless." 

Percy  spoke  no  more,  not  wishing  to  be  thought  un- 
duly nervous,  and  the  company  relapsing  into  silence 


216  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

watched  the  flames,  each  intent  upon  his  own  dark  fore- 
bodings. 

For  many  minutes  they  remained  thus,  but  starting  at 
each  sound  from  without,  and  hearing  in  every  rustle  of 
the  leafless  trees  and  shrubbery  the  hoofbeats  of  horses 
bearing  their  pursuing  enemies.  The  heat  of  the  room, 
added  to  sleepless  nights  which  had  followed  the  arrest  of 
Guido  Fawkes  and  the  discovery  of  the  conspiracy,  grad- 
ually overcame  the  majority  of  the  party,  and  all  but 
Percy  and  Catesby  nodded  in  their  seats.  These  two,  the 
first  confederates  with  Winter  and  the  Superior  of  the 
Jesuits  to  formulate  the  plan  for  destroying  the  King  and 
the  government,  sat  moodily  side  by  side,  their  burning 
eyeballs  glassy  in  the  red  reflection  of  the  flames,  and 
their  hearts  heavy  with  thoughts  of  dismal  failure  and 
impending  ruin. 

"Would  that  Garnet  were  with  us  now/'  muttered 
Catesby,  thrusting  one  foot  upon  the  fender;  "perchance 
his  wit  might  devise  some  means  to  free  us  from  our  en- 
tanglement and  perplexity,  and  save  the  cause.  Would 
that  Fawkes  had " 

Percy  raised  his  eyes  quickly.  "Thou  art  then  sorry 
"  he  began. 

"Nay,"  replied  Catesby  with  some  haughtiness.  "If  I 
had  thought  there  had  been  the  least  sin  in  it  I  would  not 
have  put  my  hand  to  it  for  all  the  world.  No  other  cause 
led  me  to  hazard  my  fortune  and  my  life  but  zeal  for  the 
true  faith.  We  have,  in  truth,  failed,  good  Percy;  yet 
was  the  match  burning  which,  in  another  moment,  would 
have  given  the  spark  to  the  powder,  and  the  thunderbolt 
of  which  friend  Guido  spake  to  us  would " 

Carried  away  by  his  earnestness  he  thrust  forth  his  foot 
beyond  the  fender  and  struck  the  faggots  which  blazed 


"IN    THE    KING'S    NAME."  217 

in  the  fireplace.  A  shower  of  sparks  answered  the  blow. 
One,  falling  beyond  the  hearthstone,  found  the  platter 
heaped  with  the  deadly  grains.  Then,  in  truth,  the  spark 
was  given  to  the  powder,  but  it  was  not  that  which  lay 
beneath  the  floor  of  Parliament;  it  was  the  powder  in 
the  room  wherein  nodded  the  would-be  murderers  of  the 
lords  and  the  King  of  England.  Ere  Catesby  was  aware 
of  the  awful  danger,  before  Percy — who  had  noted  the 
falling  spark — could  cry  out,  there  came  a  blinding  flash, 
a  cloud  of  sulphurous  smoke,  the  crashing  of  bent  and 
broken  timbers,  and  the  affrighted  cries  of  the  luckless 
inmates  of  the  room.  Yet  in  one  thing  there  seemed  to 
be  a  merciful  interposition.  Carried  upward  by  force  of 
the  explosion,  the  bag  containing  a  greater  quantity  of 
the  powder  was  'hurled  through  the  opening  in  the  roof, 
and  fell  into  the  yard  untouched  by  fire;  had  it  been 
otherwise,  the  public  executioner's  work  would  have  been 
less,  and  fewer  dripping  heads  had  graced  the  spikes  upon 
the  Tower. 

Blinded  by  fire  and  smoke  but  unharmed,  save  for  a 
scorching  of  the  hair  and  beard,  the  conspirators  groped 
their  way  into  the  open  air.  Upon  their  souls  rested  a 
cloud  of  superstitious  dread.  In  the  explosion  of  the 
gunpowder  they  saw  the  hand  of  God;  and — 'twas  not 
turned  against  the  King! 

It  was  scarce  daybreak  when  the  horse  bearing  Sir 
Thomas  Winter  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  ill-fated 
Holbeach  mansion.  Report  had  reached  him  of  the  ex- 
plosion, also  that  many  of  his  companions  were  sorely 
wounded,  and  that  Catesby  lay  dead,  with  body  shattered 
by  the  firing  of  the  powder.  Then  was  proved  his  gentle 
blood,  and  the  valor  of  his  race.  Those  with  him  when 

16 


2l8  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

he  received  the  news  begged  him  to  fly;  but  he  only 
looked  upon  them  with  clouded  brow,  and  said:  "Nay; 
Catesby  is  dead.  I  will  see  to  his  burial ;  a  gallant  gen- 
tleman,— and  my  friend!" 

Thus  he  rode  in  all  haste  to  Holbeach,  to  find  there 
his  friends  unharmed; — close  following  him  were  the 
soldiers  of  the  King. 

Scant  time  was  given  to  the  luckless  gentlemen  to  pre- 
pare for  receiving  them. 

"What  have  ye  resolved  to  do?"  asked  Winter,  having 
heard  the  story  of  the  night. 

"We  mean  to  die,"  replied  Percy  stoutly;  "we  can 
scarce  hold  the  house  an  hour." 

"Then,"  said  Winter  quietly,  "I  will  take  such  part  as 
you  do."  And  looking  to  his  sword  and  firearms,  he 
leaned  against  the  casement  of  the  window  facing  the 
road  on  which  the  King's  men  would  come. 

Toward  noon  they  came,  a  gallant  company  of  gentle- 
men and  musketeers,  flushed  with  the  early  morning  ride 
and  filled  with  zeal  to  take  the  traitors  who  awaited  them 
behind  the  walls  of  Master  Littleton's  house.  Watching 
from  the  window  Winter  saw  many  faces  which  he  knew; 
Sir  John  Foliot,  Francis  Conyers,  Salway,  Ketelsby,  all 
staunch  adherents  of  the  King; — men  who,  being  dis- 
patched upon  any  errand,  would  carry  it  through  most 
zealously.  Before  the  cavalcade  rode  a  doughty  gentle- 
man, Sir  Richard  Walsh,  sheriff  of  Worcestershire,  armed 
with  the  royal  authority  to  seize  the  persons  of  such  con- 
spirators as  chanced  to  fall  in  his  way. 

It  was  the  sheriff  who  halted  the  troop  some  fifty  paces 
from  the  house,  and,  attended  by  Sir  John  Foliot  and  two 
musketeers,  advanced  boldly  to  the  closed  door. 

Trying  the  latch  and  finding  the  portal   barred,  he 


"IN    THE    KING'S    NAME."  219 

tapped  upon  the  panel  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  None 
from  within  replied.  Again  the  sheriff  rapped,  and  a 
voice  demanded  who  it  was  that  sought  admittance,  and 
what  might  be  his  errand. 

"That,"  replied  Sir  Richard,  "is  well  known  to  thee. 
Open,  therefore,  in  the  King's  name!" 

The  conspirators  hesitated,  for  the  command  was  one 
wont  to  be  obeyed  in  England. 

"Open!"  repeated  the  sheriff;  "lay  down  your  arms!" 

"We  will  die,"  replied  Catesby  firmly,  "but  will  not 
open  unto  thee." 

"Die  thou  shalt,"  replied  Sir  Richard  cheerily,  "with 
thy  head  upon  the  block."  So  saying,  and  perceiving 
that  those  within  would  sell  their  lives  dearly,  he  returned 
to  his  men,  ordering  that  some  quickly  fire  the  building, 
others  stand  ready  to  receive  any,  who,  driven  forth  by 
fear  or  flame,  might  seek  to  escape  through  the  garden. 

Perceiving  that  they  were  like  to  be  burned  alive,  those 
in  the  house  resolved  to  gain  the  garden,  and  with  sword 
in  hand  contend  with  the  King's  men.  'Twas  Winter  who 
unloosed  the  bolt;  and  perchance  something  had  come  of 
the  venture,  for  the  besieged  were  of  most  determined 
purpose,  if  some  of  the  soldiers  had  not  discharged  their 
muskets,  and  a  ball  striking  Sir  Thomas  in  the  shoulder 
wounded  him  sorely.  A  second  fire  sent  a  rain  of  balls 
through  the  open  doorway,  some  of  them  hitting  my  Lord 
of  Rookwood  and  the  two  Wrights,  Christopher  and 
John, — stretching  them  dead  upon  the  floor. 

"God's  mercy!"  cried  Catesby;  "let  us  forth,  ere  we  all 
be  murdered.  Stand  by  me,  Tom,  and  we  will  die  to- 
gether." 

Winter,   whose   face   was   white   with   pain,   replied 

15 


220  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

hoarsely:  "That  will  I,  sir;  but  having  lost  the  use  of 
my  right  arm,  I  fear  I  will  be  taken." 

Yet  he  stooped  and  caught  up  his  sword  with  his  left 
hand,  standing  a  little  back  of  Catesby  and  Percy  who 
blocked  the  doorway. 

"Wouldst  contend  against  us?"  cried  the  sheriff  of 
Worcestershire,  and  then  ordered  that  a  third  volley  be 
delivered  by  his  musketeers. 

Most  of  the  balls  lodged  themselves  in  the  wall  of  the 
building,  or  tore  splinters  from  the  casement  of  the  door. 
But  one,  as  though  resolved  to  atone  for  the  fruitless 
efforts  of  its  fellows,  sped  on  its  deathly  errand,  striking 
Robert  Catesby  in  the  neck,  passing  quite  through,  and 
burying  itself  in  the  breast  of  Percy,  who  with  scarce  a 
cry  fell  dead  at  Winter's  feet. 

Bleeding  profusely,  Catesby  attempted  to  regain  his 
footing,  but  death  was  near  and  he  fell  back  crying  to 
Winter  to  lift  him  up  that  he  might  help  defend  the  door- 
way. The  conspirators  who  remained  unharmed,  drew 
back  in  terror,  crouching  behind  the  furniture  with  no 
thought  of  resisting  the  King's  authority. 

Seeing  that  Percy,  Rookwood  and  the  two  Wrights 
were  dead,  Catesby  dying,  and  none  to  support  him,  Win- 
ter cast  aside  his  sword  and  bent  over  his  stricken  com- 
rade. At  that  moment  certain  of  the  sheriff's  men  charg- 
ing upon  the  open  doorway,  perceived  him  standing 
there,  and  one,  bearing  a  pike^hrust  it  at  him  so  that 
the  point  pierced  his  doublet  and  wounded  him  griev- 
ously. Staggering  under  the  blow  Winter,  his  clothes 
covered  with  blood,  gave  back,  and  again  was  wounded 
in  the  side  by  a  rapier. 

"Cowards!"  cried  he,  striking  blindly  at  the  foremost 


"IN    THE    KING'S    NAME."  221 

soldier  with  his  naked  hand,  "can  ye  not  touch  a  vital 
part,  but  must  torture  me  so?" 

One,  perceiving  him  sorely  wounded  and  unarmed, 
seized  him  and  in  a  moment  he  was  bound  and  dragged 
into  the  yard. 

The  others,  Keyes,  John  Grant  and  Henry  Morgan, 
were  quickly  overcome,  and  now  of  the  nine  Catholic 
gentlemen  who  had  resolved  to  defend  the  house,  five  lay 
dead,  and  four  were  in  the  hands  of  the  authorities. 

Having  so  handily  brought  his  errand  to  a  successful 
termination  Sir  Richard,  of  Worcestershire,  fell  into  great 
good  humor. 

"Faith!"  cried  he,  sheathing  his  bloodless  sword,  "  'tis 
a  merry  gathering  for  my  Lord  of  Salisbury  to  look  upon. 
Four  plump  birds  ready  for  the  axe  man,  and  four  and 
one  knocking  at  the  gate  of  hell.  Rare  sport,  in  truth, 
hath  been  the  taking  of  so  ill  a  brood;  therefore,  gentle- 
men, to  London  and  the  Tower  with  the  nine.  Though 
some  be  dead,  their  necks  are  ready  for  the  axe,  I  war- 
rant. Tis  a  brave  sight  will  greet  the  populace,  anon." 


222  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
REAPING   THE   WHIRLWIND. 

Those  who  watched  with  Fawkes  said  he  partook  of  no 
food,  slept  not — neither  spoke,  and  refused  to  utter  the 
names  of  his  fellow  conspirators.  He  sat  all  day  in  his 
cell  without  moving.  At  times  there  came  into  his  drawn 
and  haggard  face  a  strange  and  unearthly  light,  as  though 
he  suddenly  beheld  a  form  glide  from  out  the  shadow  of 
the  dungeon,  and  kneel  beside  him.  At  these  moments 
he  would  stretch  forth  his  arms  as  if  to  embrace  the  airy 
figure  of  his  brain,  and  whisper,  nodding  his  head  slowly 
the  while:  "Thou  wert  all  I  had — in  a  moment,  darling; 
— wait  until  thy  father  can  but  pass  this  dreary  portal." 

They  put  him  to  the  rack,  but  elicited  nothing.  He  en- 
dured the  torture  as  though  scarce  feeling  it;  and  even 
in  agony,  was  heard  to  mutter:  "In  a  moment,  my  little 
one — but  a  moment  more." 

His  trial,  with  that  of  the  others  implicated  in  the  plot, 
was  over.  The  sentence  of  death  had  been  pronounced 
upon  each.  Three  days  after,  Everard  Digsby,  with 
Robert  Winter  and  Grant,  met  death  by  hanging  in  the 
churchyard  of  St.  Paul's.  Three  remained  awaiting  the 
headsman's  axe — Thomas  Winter,  Keyes  and  Guido 
Fawkes. 

Their  execution  was  anticipated  by  the  populace  of 
London  with  unwonted  eagerness.  The  desire  of  the 
people  to  see  justice  meted  to  those  whom  they  deemed 
the  prime  movers  in  a  conspiracy  which  had  shaken 
England  to  its  foundation,  was  only  rivaled  by  the  curi- 


REAPING   THE   WHIRLWIND.  223 

osity  resident  in  each  heart,  to  behold  the  one  who,  with 
undaunted  nerve,  had  stood  beneath  the  House  of  Lords 
ready  to  fire  the  mine  which  would  rob  the  kingdom  at 
one  fell  blow  of  both  its  monarch  and  Parliament. 

In  that  age  public  executions  were  signals  for  general 
holidays;  people  flocked  from  the  most  distant  shires, 
decked  in  best  attire,  to  witness  the  doing  to  death  of 
some  poor  malefactor.  But  this  was  no  ordinary  occa- 
sion; and,  as  if  to  emphasize  the  fact,  a  great  throng  had 
assembled  at  Westminster  even  before  the  sun  arose,  on 
the  day  set  apart  for  the  beheading  of  the  remaining 
three  conspirators. 

At  an  early  hour  companies  of  halberdiers  were  forced 
to  exercise  their  authority  in  keeping  the  crowd  at  proper 
distance  from  the  ominous  structure  erected  in  the  middle 
of  the  square.  The  object  about  which  this  innumerable 
concourse  of  people  gathered  was  a  high  platform  cov- 
ered with  black  cloth,  in  the  center  of  which  stood  the 
block.  The  condemned  men  had  been  brought  from  the 
Tower  shortly  after  midnight,  and  were  now  lodged  in 
the  space  beneath  the  scaffold,  which  had  been  converted 
into  a  kind  of  closed  pen. 

The  hour  for  the  execution  was  eleven,  and  as  the  time 
approached  the  multitude  gradually  swelled,  being  in- 
creased by  thousands;  as  though  some  pitiless  monster 
were  fattening  itself  upon  thoughts  of  the  blood  so  soon 
to  be  shed. 

Again  and  again  the  pikemen  were  forced  to  thrust 
back  the  surging  mass,  and  at  last  the  soldiers  did  not 
hesitate  to  use  their  weapons  as  the  throng  forced  its  way 
up  to  the  very  ropes  surrounding  the  scaffold.  But  now 
above  the  babel  of  tongues  the  great  bell  of  the  Cathe- 
dral boomed  out  the  hour  of  eleven.  As  its  last  note 


224  THE  FIFTH   OF  NOVEMBER. 

died  away  the  roar  of  voices  gradually  subsided,  until 
it  sunk  into  a  dull  murmur  of  expectancy,  but  again 
it  broke  forth  into  a  cheer  as  the  headsman  ascended  the 
stairs  leading  to  the  scaffold.  This  man  was  popular  with 
the  rabble  and  noted  for  his  dexterity  and  strength.  As 
the  applause  greeted  him  he  recognized  the  homage  ren- 
dered with  a  bow.  His  was  a  gruesome  figure,  as,  attired 
in  the  costume  of  the  office,  his  features  concealed  by  a 
scarlet  mask,  lie  leaned  easily  upon  -the  handle  of  the 
glittering  axe — and  waited. 

Soon  four  soldiers,  under  command  of  an  officer,  ap- 
proached the  door  of  the  inclosure  and  stood  two  on 
either  side  with  halberds  reversed.  A  moment  of  breath- 
less stillness  followed;  the  portal  opened  and  one  victim 
was  led  forth.  Surrounded  by  guards  he  was  solemnly 
conducted  to  the  foot  of  the  steps  leading  to  the  block. 
Keyes,  for  it  was  he,  ascended  without  aid,  and  reached 
the  platform.  A  murmur  of  disappointment  ran  through 
the  multitude  as  he  came  into  view,  for  they  had  sup- 
posed Fawkes  would  be  the  first  to  die. 

The  man  for  an  instant  stood  quite  still;  he  had  been 
the  first  of  the  little  procession  to  reach  the  top,  and 
seemed  undecided  which  direction  to  take,  but  only  for 
a  moment  stood  he  thus;  two  of  the  guards  quickly  ap- 
proached and  led  him  toward  the  center  of  the  scaffold. 
He  knelt  without  assistance,  laid  his  cheek  upon  the 
block,  his  right  shoulder  resting  in  the  notch  fastened  for 
its  reception.  The  soldiers  retired.  The  headsman  drew 
back,  swiftly  raised  the  axe  above  his  head,  measured  the 
distance  with  a  practiced  eye,  and  struck. 

The  favorite  of  the  rabble  had  again  acquitted  himself 
well.  The  head  of  the  victim  fell  on  one  side  of  the  block, 
the  quivering  trunk  sinking  to  the  floor  upon  the  other. 


REAPING   THE   WHIRLWIND.  225 

A  cheer  greeted  the  deed,  then  silence  once  more  fell 
upon  the  multitude.  Some  soldiers  now  appeared  carry- 
ing a  box  of  sand.  They  quickly  ascended  the  steps  and 
scattered  its  contents  upon  the  wet  boards.  Having  fin- 
ished, one  of  the  men  seized  the  head  which  still  lay  where 
it  had  fallen,  fixed  it  upon  the  point  of  his  pike  and  stuck 
the  weapon  with  its  gruesome  burden  upon  the  railing. 
The  headless  trunk  was  flung  without  ceremony  into  a 
cart  which  was  in  waiting. 

Again  the  procession  formed;  once  more  a  victim 
knelt;  the  axe  fell,  and  another  head  stared  down  upon 
the  throng  below. 

A  ripple  of  expectancy  again  broke  forth.  Two  had 
died;  the  next  must  be  the  one  for  whom  they  waited. 
All  strained  their  necks  in  eagerness  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  as  he  should  be  led  forth,  and  this  was  the  sight 
for  which  they  had  longed: — 

A  man  unable  to  stand  alone;  his  form,  weakened  by 
torture  and  sickness,  was  dragged  up  the  steps  and  stood 
confronting  them.  His  arms  were  not  bound,  for  they 
hung  lifeless.  Those  who  stood  near  could  understand 
the  absence  of  fetters ;  there  was  nothing  upon  which  to 
clasp  them,  save  a  mass  of  crushed  bones,  in  many  places 
stripped  of  flesh  by  the  cruel  cords  of  the  rack.  He 
seemed  quite  oblivious  of  his  surroundings,  turned  his 
head  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  but  gazed  past 
the  headsman — past  his  captors — and  far  beyond  the  sea 
of  upturned  faces.  His  lips  were  seen  to  move,  but  only 
those  who  supported  him  could  catch  the  words: — "In  a 
moment,  my  little  one!"  he  whispered;  "thy  father  will 
soon  kiss  thy  sweet  lips — and  then — we  will  love  each 
other,  and  in  that  love  forget  all 

They  hurried  him  toward  the  block  and  were  obliged 


226  THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER. 

to  place  his  head  upon  it;  his  weakness  was  so  great  that 
he  would  have  fallen  had  they  not  supported  him.  His 
guards  drew  back,  the  axe,  already  lifted,  was  about  to 
descend,  when,  the  poor  limp  figure  slipped  and  fell  with 
a  thud  to  the  floor,  unable  to  save  itself  by  reason  of  the 
uselessness  of  the  arms.  Again  he  was  lifted;  once  more 
the  axe  was  raised,  and  even  in  that  moment  they  heard 
him  whisper  the  name  ever  upon  his  lips: 

"Elinor!" — Crash! — and  he  was  away  to  clasp  her  to 
his  breast. 


CONCLUSION.  227 


CONCLUSION. 

Of  Henry  Garnet  something  remains  to  be  said.  The 
alarm  which  was  felt  at  the  revelation  of  the  treason 
which  might,  but  for  the  arrest  of  Fawkes  in  the  cellar 
under  Parliament  House,  have  resulted  in  the  disruption 
of  the  government,  was  widespread,  and  it  became  neces- 
sary for  the  Jesuits  remaining  in  the  kingdom  to  hide 
most  secretly. 

As  Catesby  had  said,  the  Superior,  upon  leaving  Lon- 
don some  weeks  before  the  discovery  of  the  plot,  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  house  of  Sir  Everard  Digsby  at 
Coughton.  'Twas  there  he  received  a  letter  from  one  of 
the  conspirators  announcing  the  failure  of  the  enterprise 
to  which  he  had  lent  himself.  For  three  weeks  he 
remained  in  hiding,  when,  by  night,  and  in  disguise,  he 
was  removed  to  Hendlip  House,  where  with  another  of 
his  Order,  and  two  servants,  he  escaped  for  a  time  the 
diligent  search  instituted  by  Salisbury,  and  urged  on  by 
the  King. 

On  the  twentieth  of  January  following  the  fatal  Fifth 
of  November,  Sir  Henry  Bromley,  a  magistrate,  arrived 
with  an  armed  force  at  Hendlip,  being  in  possession  of  a 
commission  to  search  the  mansion.  The  house  was  full 
of  secret  apartments,  and  for  seven  days  the  King's  offi- 
cer looked  in  vain  for  the  Superior  of  the  Jesuits.  But 
on  the  eighth  a  soldier,  chancing  upon  a  room  occupied 
by  one  of  the  women  of  the  place,  discovered  in  an  aper- 
ture of  the  chimney  a  reed  pipe,  which  excited  his  curi- 
osity and  suspicion. 

Hearing  of  the  matter,  Sir  Bromley  followed  the  clew 
thus  given  him,  and  behind  the  wall,  in  a  secret  chamber, 


228  THE  FIFTH   OF   NOVEMBER. 

came  upon  Garnet  and  his  companion,  Oldcorne,  who, 
since  the  coming  of  the  authorities,  had  been  fed 
through  the  reed  with  broths  and  warm  drinks. 

Taken  to  London,  the  Superior  of  the  Jesuits  was 
treated  kindly.  Many  examinations  were  given  him,  nor 
was  torture  resorted  to  in  his  case,  though  Oldcorne  was 
put  to  the  rack.  Through  all  Garnet  divulged  nothing, 
and  there  had  been  some  likelihood  of  escape,  for  the 
King  was  kindly  disposed,  had  not  a  trick  resorted  to  by 
the  government  resulted  in  his  undoing.  Allowed  to 
hold  communication  with  the  unfortunate  Oldcorne,  a 
watch  was  stationed  behind  the  wall  of  the  cell,  and  such 
conversation  as  passed  between  the  churchmen  was  taken 
down.  The  facts  thus  revealed  hurried  Garnet  to  his 
doom. 

His  trial  was  held  late  in  March,  and  although  he  de- 
fended himself  ably,  the  evidence  of  his  having  been  a 
party  to  treason  was  conclusive.  Through  all  he  main- 
tained that,  though  cognizant  of  the  design  to  blow  up 
the  House  of  Parliament,  he  had  taken  no  active  part  with 
the  conspirators.  Holding  that  the  secret  had  come  to 
him  through  sacramental  confession,  he  affirmed  that, 
by  his  faith,  he  was  bound  to  disclose  nothing  concerning 
it.  The  trial  ended  with  the  sentence  that  he  follow  in  the 
footsteps  of  Fawkes,  Winter  and  those  others  who  had 
met  death,  upon  the  scaffold.  Even  then,  the  King,  loth 
to  see  executed  so  famous  a  prelate,  stayed  for  a  time 
the  hand  of  the  axeman.  Twas  not  till  the  third  day  of 
May,  three  months  after  the  death  of  his  former  com- 
panions, that  Garnet  died— the  last  of  those  unfortunate 
men  who  sought  to  gain  their  ends  by  violence. 

THE   END. 


A     000  051  977     7 


^foan.  S 


